Perfect, Pretty Family on a Postcard Picture
by Kerschi-Puky
Summary: Something happens which causes Ryan to break with the Cohen Family, later he needs their help and some strange truth comes out. Let's assume that Kirsten's alcoholism started in the 1st season. Betad. New Chapter!
1. Prologue

**A/N.: Thanks to my Beta ParisAmy for her very good work and for being such a reliable beta-reader. I'm glad to have you =) I hope you enjoy this story, which is a little different from the rest I've done until now and it's a little experimental. Enjoy!

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_**Prologue – **__We'll never go back to what we've once were, but we'll be back to what we can be_

I watch my son. He's nervous – awfully nervous. His hands are shaking when he tries to fasten his tie. This is his big moment. I don't know how many years he was dreaming about this to happen. Well, I think he never had thought this dream would become true one day, but now it does. My son is going to be a married man at the end of this day. He deserves it. I know it's a little early. Both are still in College, both Berkley. But hell, why not? Sandy and I had gotten married in that age too and I don't think it had done us any harm. He's the luckiest man on earth, but there's a gleam of sadness in his eyes. This was his big day and _he_ wasn't there – his best friend and brother. He looks at me with his round, brown and sad eyes.

"He's not coming?" He asks, still hoping I could give him another answer.

"I'm sorry, no." I have to answer, no matter how much pain it causes my heart to admit it. He nods and I see the sadness washing over his face, draining the happiness. This wasn't supposed to cover the luckiest day of his life.

"I think it is for the best that way. You know that what happened between him and Sandy … between him and me…actually between all of us had…hit him hard. He couldn't stay," I sooth him, wishing that _he_ was here.

"After all you – we went through…he… I mean what about you? You've done everything for him and…It wasn't my fault. I mean, I'm not responsible for what…has happened between them or you and him, or am I wrong?" He asks me frustrated about the situation we're stuck in.

"No, nothing was your fault and what I did for him I did because I had the feeling that I had to do it. He tore out his soul for…the family – for us. He saved me and you. I only needed some time to realise that he did. I couldn't let it happen. And I guess this changed his view of life too. He went through so much within a short time. I guess this has shaped him." I explain to him. No, _he_ owes me nothing. I did it, because it already had been painful, when he had left- when I came home and he hadn't been there. Thinking about what might have happened if we hadn't found out…I drive this thought away.

"But I guess he's sent you a card or a message. Did he?" I ask my son. I know the two of them had stayed in contact, through the whole time I thought I never would see him again. He had left, physically, but mentally he always had been there for us, giving us the strength we needed to get through all of the mess – only by being there for my son and giving him the strength he gave back to us. It's amazing, but also sad. _He_ had hid – only been visible for my son, always there for him, giving him shelter when he had needed it, helping him, where _he _could. I guess without_ him _being strong in the background, this family hadn't made it through this time. _He _had been so strong and never told any of us what went on with him, how miserable he was. Sometimes I think it's our fault. _He_ had given us all his strength that there hadn't been any left for him. I know it's a strange thought, but that's what I really think.

"Yes he did, even a present. I didn't know that college students earn that much money." My son replies.

"I don't think he's a student anymore. I thought he was finishing his master months ago." I answer, but I'm not sure. I know where _he_ is. _He_ didn't disappear like last time, but what stood between us was still there and _he_ hadn't been ready for a new start.

I admire _him_. Through the whole time _he_ never had given up. _He_ had worked like an ox and it had paid. _He_ was young, but already successful. Sometimes I fear _him_. But most of the time I would love to be able to watch _him_ do his work. He has such a peaceful aura when his pen scratches over the pad. He's really creative, not really an attribute that matches to him. _He_'s talented and I envy _him. _The tough fight we had, had been worth it. But _he_ never forgot where he came from, no matter how hard we tried to spoil him with our life-style-luxuries. You can see it starting from _his_ home to _his_ cloths. In his heart he'll remain the Chino-boy, who worked hard to get there where _he_ is now, appreciating every change to his former life. _He's_ grateful for everything and everyone, something we've forgotten about.

"Sorry, having to disturb you two, but I have to introduce you to someone Kiki." My Dad comes in. Ahh. He brought his job here? To this event? He can only be kidding. I can't believe it. This was a wedding, not a meeting. How the hell could he? Anger starts boiling in my stomach about his unbelievable ignorance.

"Who is it Dad and why did you bring him or her here?" I ask him, not hiding my fury about it. Yes, I'm grateful for what he had done – his support. I think without him I never would have been able to get through this – not again. Watching someone you love fading away is the worst thing that could have ever happened to me, and watching it twice is like a trip from hell and back in slow motion. Indeed I was astonished, when he offered his help – his personal help, not his money. He had been there for me and _him_, no matter the differences, which prevailed between them. It had brought us closer together, made us father and daughter again. I can look into my father's eyes again and call him Dad. I'd never been able to since I was a teenager, but now I am. I know he's not the cold rough man he pretends to be on the surface and he has stopped pretending to be around me. Somehow I would say we nearly have quite a normal father-daughter-relationship, if 'normal' even existed in our vocabulary.

"It's the boy I picked out for the internship and maybe…for being our new architect."

"Dad can't it wait until - " I try to cut the conversation about this short by making my point clear about the time.

"No, because his references are amazing. Scholarship at Harvard; finished his Bachelor with an all expectations exceeding degree. He conducted social projects in Africa and South America during his time as a University Student. He already worked for one of the big Companies in London and now finished his Master in Cambridge. C'mon, you need to know him." He says. I ignore the expression on his face. Well, I'm impressed by this curriculum, but this has to wait until tomorrow. Today is my son's day and nobody has permission to disturb the glory of his day.

"Dad, I can imagine that this is quite important for you, but …," I start a new attempt to stop his endeavour. I look at him and he has this devilish grin and then _he_ makes a step forward – from behind my father's back. _His_ look had changed. Of course it had…but…he just looks different.

"Is…is it really you?," I ask _him._

"I think so," _He_ only says. I jump towards _him_ and take _him_ into a big hug. _He_'s still skinny. But hell, I don't care. _He_ had come. _He_ was ready, I felt it and I was grateful.

"And you haven't said a word!," I admonish my father, who still has this huge smile plastered on his face.

"So I hope you won't mind my additional guest," He replies, as if I could mind _him_ being here today. I see my son stepping toward _him_, his face blank, but though a positive mood vibrating from his face.

"You're here…for today…man I can't tell you how great this is, to have you here on this day," My son says and takes _him_ into a hug too. Now I can see in his face entire happiness.

"I couldn't miss this day - your big day. Honestly, when you told me first about her, I'd never thought it could become more than a dream," _He_ answers with a faked serious expression.

"Uncle Ryan, back in Newport, who had thought about that?," My son replies with a smirk.

"Shut up, Seth." Ryan adds his glare to his answer and slaps my son's back of the head, unable to force the smile back into a serious mimic.

"But I thought you were living in London, busy working." A voice comes from behind. We turn around and see my husband. The two of them look at each other. I don't know whether it's now time for me to intervene, because I could never really figure out the state of their relationship.

"Well, I did part time. I finished my master degree in Cambridge this year and I received a job offer I couldn't refuse," _He_ answers. _He_ had made his way, even without us. Not that I ever thought _he_ couldn't. _He's_ probably the strongest and most stubborn person I met in my entire life.

"It's good to see you again," My husband says and steps a little forward. All this feels a little awkward, as there is a slight tension mixed together with all the rest of emotions pouring out of all of us, but then my husband pulls him into a hug too and I _he_ allows him to.

"I know you can't forgive me for what I did to you, but I want you to know that I'll be always there for you. We are family." The last sentence was whispered.

"That's right, and next time I swear I'll kick your ass," He answers with a smirk and I know that things are okay between the two of them, not the same, but this is beyond impossible.

"Okay guys, enough sentimentalities, I have a serious problem to solve," My son breaks the strange atmosphere. We all look at him, curious to know what problem he has to solve now.

"Okay, you wait here and I have to find a…there he is. Luke!," My son screams. Luke Ward comes up to us.

"Yes…what in hell, are you doing here?," He exclaims, when he sees _him_. "Okay, you don't have to ask. Of course you want him to be your best man. Of course and don't worry, I'm not mad. I'm only glad to see you again."

"Thanks man, for your understanding."

"And what do I have to do?," _He_ asks. His eyes – the mirror to his soul, tell it all: happiness, confusion, home.

The ceremony was wonderful. Summer is the most beautiful bride I've ever seen, and she looks so happy. Both look so happy: my son and she. This day will be one of the most – had been the most perfect day. Something I had thought of never happen again became true. We are all together now. There are little cracks in our relationships to each other, but I know we can overcome these conflicts. I'd never had even thought my father being member of this picture. I look at him and I know he has something up his sleeve.

"Okay, sorry that I have to claim some of the attention that appertains to you, but I have to tell you something," He says and looks at me. I still can't handle it when he looks like that. I still know him as the cold dragon that has cruel plans, which are driving me crazy.

"I plan to retire from the Newport Group." Now the bomb has exploded. I look at him. I can't believe that he really means what he just has said. He can't. His job is his life. He can't tell me that he really wants to retire.

"Kiki, I want you as my replacement," He adds. Oh. My. Gosh. That's not true, or? He never had wanted me as his replacement. I'd never been good enough for him. I'd never been able to make anything good enough and now this? What has gotten into this man? Whatever it was, it had gotten into him several years ago and I know what occasion had changed him.

"And because I need a new good architect and someone who can deal with all these stubborn contractors and construction workers, I think this is your job," He goes on and looks at Ryan. I look at him.

"And you knew about all this?," I ask _him_ and slap his arm. _He_ only shrugs his shoulders.

"But there's one obligation: I want you two working together as a team. You're supposed to be the heart of the Newport Group and the glum holding everything together. So I need you to work hand in hand," My father says. Well, this shouldn't be a problem.

"That's great man. I mean, not that I ask myself, why you're already finished your degree and I don't, but that's great. We can hang out together again. That will be cool, really cool. You know PlayStation marathons and…"

"Don't even think of that," Summer announces to him, but she is happy about Ryan's presence too, not considering what had stood between them when he had come back. He's here safe and sound.

"Seth, don't forget I have to work for your Mom," He replies. I look at him and I see that he's enjoying his time with us again, but he looks exhausted and pale. He hadn't regained his physical strength he used to have when he first came to live with us.

"Sorry, I just need some fresh air," He excuses himself and then gets up. I follow him outside. He's watching the horizon. It's a long time since he had been here.

"You look tired," I say to him. He looks at me.

"It's okay," He answers. I wrap an arm around his waist. I can't believe he's going to stay for now. I can't believe I'll see him again and again, day after day.

"Do you go to your checkups frequently?," I ask him. I know he's old enough. I know he can take responsibility. I only want to know. It's my mother's instinct overwhelming me. I hadn't had the chance to be a mother for him for years. I need to have it now, no matter how old he is.

"Sure," He answers, not turning his glance away from the horizon.

"And what does he say?," I ask on. I have to check on whether he's alright. I couldn't bear to find out he's sick again only by accident. If something happens, I want to be there from the very beginning.

"He's not too enthusiastic." His voice is quiet and calm, but neither afraid nor sad. He's a strong man and although his physical appearance might have suffered, his mental strength had grown.

"Bad?"

"Might be an infection, might be worse," He only answers. The Damocles' sword his hanging above his head once again.

"No matter what it is, we get through this, again and again, no matter how often," I tell him and squeeze his arm.

"And Sandy will be there for you too. We all will. I promise you from now on, nothing will tear us apart from each other. Not this time," I let him know and lean my head against his upper arm.

"Thanks…for everything."

"No Ryan, if someone has to thank someone, then it's me who has to thank you for helping us during this time, for being there for Seth, for coming back and being there for us again."

"It feels good."

"You're home now."

"Finally."

Finally, my lost son came back.


	2. 1 Liar

**A/N.: **Thanks to my beta ParisAmy and for all the nice reviews

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_**1. Liar – **__I need to help you_

I sit on my bed the letter in my hand. I can't believe it. Why hadn't he said anything? We're writing each other at least once a day. He's even calling once in a while, checking whether everything is alright, whether there is something he could do for me. He stayed longer than he had been able to bear. He sacrificed himself for us – for me. I had begged him to stay for me and he did, but one day he was gone. He hadn't been able to stay any longer and thus one morning when I entered the pool house I found it empty.

"_Ryan buddy, are you here? Grandpa is driving Mom to a rehab centre. I guess everything is going to be alright again." I'd thought until that day that I wouldn't like my Mom to be gone, but the truth was: I was relieved when she was finally gone. It had been a rough few months. Mom had started drinking. Why? I have no idea yet, but Grandpa promised me I would one day. It was strange to witness him changing from one night to the other. He came here and took the strings into his hand and I'm glad he did. Dad was overtaxed with the all the things since they had started. It had been Ryan, cleaning up the mess my Mom had produced when she was drunk. He swept up the pieces of broken glass, when she had started to throw around the dishes. He cleaned up her vomit, when she had drunken too much. He kneeled besides her, rubbing her back, when she had heaved into the toilet bowl. He carried her to bed, when she passed out on the couch in the middle of the day. He never told me. I have seen it. He had been brave. He never complained about it. He just functioned. _

"_Hey! Ryan?" I hadn't gotten any answer and then I saw a sheet of paper on the neatly made bed._

_Sorry Seth, I can't stay any longer. I have to go, before this breaks me. I'll mail you or call you. Don't worry I'm not leaving you alone with the mess. I only won't be there physically._

_Cheers_

_Ryan. _

_I dropped onto the bed and instantly knew what he was talking about in his note. In fact I had heard my Mum screaming at him._

'_Worthless scum and I let you in' this, or 'Now you see what you're doing to me. I wish I'd never let you into my house. I should have let you die in this fucking prison'. He just stood there and let her yell at him – he stood there like a rock, but I knew inwardly my Mom was ripping out pieces of his soul with every sentence. I'm still asking myself where my Dad had been. Fact, he hadn't been around. He hid behind the veil of work and left us alone. He listened to Mom's outbursts, but never stepped in and when Ryan came to him and told him that Mom needed help, he did nothing. He had…done nothing, but slapped his face. I should have intervened then. I didn't. I was too perplexed. My Dad never became physical. This had been a whole new side. I read the sheet over and over again. I've been frustrated. Ryan was gone for good and I've begged him to stay. After the incident my father slapped his face, I caught him, packing his duffle bag._

"_What are you doing?" I asked him._

"_What does it look like?" He asked back._

"_As if you're leaving."_

"_Smart ass." He had been pissed off and he had enough reasons to be, as he has had too many reasons for leaving for good at the end._

"_You can't. You have to stay." I begged him._

"_Seth, I can't stay. This…I had enough of this shit in my life. I can't take any more of it." He explained and it had been the first time he told me about his feelings he carried around about his past._

"_I know…but…without you…Mom needs help and I can't help her. And…Dad is out of service…I need someone keeping…the family alive." I pleaded. He had been the only person I could rely on these days – before he left for good._

"_Seth, your family is dead as long as nobody faces the inevitable." He answered and he was right._

"_But how if the only one who knows what's going on leaves? You can't leave me alone with this mess. I mean it's not that bad, isn't it?" I asked him. I'd been afraid._

"_Your father slapped my face…not only gently." He said. He sat down on the bed and I dropped down next to him. I understood what he was saying._

"_Please Ryan, for me…for Mom and Dad. I know that we mean something to you and I know that you know that Dad didn't mean to…to…you know what. Please don't leave me. I promise when this is over I'll let you go, wherever you want to. But please don't leave me alone with this. I can't handle it and you know that." I said to him. He buried his face in his hands. I'd never thought he would leave for real. I had thought it was nothing but a sentence I was saying to make him stay, until the crises managed and under control. He sighed and looked at me._

"_Okay. I'll stay, but only as long as this is over." He said and he stayed. If I had known then what hell would follow, I wouldn't have begged him to stay, but to take me with him._

"_That's great man, I'll never forget you that."_

"_I hope so." He answered. His face already looked way too tired for a teenager, but I didn't see it then, because I looked the same. I hadn't sensed that he would go for good but he did. One day, Grandpa appeared in the kitchen. He was drinking his coffee and watched my Mom._

"_You know Kiki, being drunk at this hour of the day is even for Newport standards a little early and unusual don't you think so?"He said directly and my Mom looked at him like frozen._

"_What the hell do you care?"She asked. _

"_I care, because you are my daughter and with your behaviour you're tearing apart the last remaining family I have." He answered._

"_Family? Since when am I family for you? You fucking bastard don't see anything else in me but a working machine." My Mom screamed. I hated when she used all these swearwords. This was the evidence that my Mom hadn't been my Mom anymore._

"_Kiki, stop it. I know I haven't been the best father for quite a time but now it's my job to help you. You're sick and you have to admit it or your family has to pay for it."_

"_One more word Caleb or I throw you out of this house." My father came in. He had closed his eyes from the reality and everybody who dared to put it open on the table was fought tooth and nail._

"_Stop it Sanford and face the truth. Your wife is an alcoholic and you just don't want to admit it. Hell, did you ever think about your son? Did you pay attention to how much you harm him? Did you even have the slightest thought about how he feels in this situation? How is he supposed to deal with it, huh? Can you tell me?" He said. My father looked at me, the first time in months in which he really looked at me, not over me or through me, but at me. I don't know how the argument went on but at the end my father started crying, admitting that he knew about alcohol abuse, but hasn't been strong enough to face the truth. My Mom become more angry and at the end she broke down, told us how hard she had tried to be the perfect daughter, the perfect employee, the perfect housewife, wife and Mom and that Carter had shaken her world that badly that she hadn't known what to feel or do anymore. He'd been her escape and when he was gone she'd been alone again. At the end she agreed and drove to a rehab centre with my Grandpa. I've had a long conversation with my father, in which he told me how sorry he was because of his behaviour, but that he now was there for me and would do everything to make it alright again. Only at the end of the conversation we recognised that Ryan wasn't there. Dad sent me to get him, but all I found was an empty pool house and this fucking sheet of paper. _

"_And now? Are you fucking proud of yourself? You scared…forced him out of this house. You've hurt him. You weren't any better than all his mother's boyfriends. That's why he's gone." My father didn't say anything. We didn't know that my Grandpa's presence had been his doing, making him capable of leaving this place. I threw the paper into my father's face and disappeared into my room and there broken down into tears. I didn't know what was worse: that my Mom was an alcoholic and was on her way straight to rehab, or that Ryan was finally gone for good. I had lost my best friend and brother, because nobody had been listening to him._

I know it had been for him to protect himself from more damage. I can understand why he did so. But I don't understand why he hasn't been honest with me, about him. I turn the letter in my hand. I can't do anything. I only started my first term at College. What am I supposed to do? He hasn't even written the letter. I'm angry. How can he dare to keep something like that from me? He had said we were more than friends. He was supposed to tell me – to let me know. He didn't. The day he was gone had changed everything. Not even the fact that my Mom came back one day, sober and being the Mom I knew and loved could fill the hole inside, which was left after Ryan's departure. Worst of all was their indifference about it. My Dad hadn't said anything about it, just nodded in acknowledgement. He knew he couldn't say anything, because he was the one, who abandoned Ryan months ago in a situation he wasn't supposed to handle alone and again. My Mom was different. She asked about Ryan's whereabouts when she came home and found the pool house empty. I gave her the sheet and she'd given it back to me, without any reaction. I don't know what to do. Nobody seems to care about him anymore, but I can't help him, not alone.

I only know that he needs help. He had needed it from the day when I caught him trying to leave the first time, but now he really needs it. I can't go to my Dad. I can't tell whether he would be angry or worried. I don't care. It's for sure that Ryan wouldn't want Dad to know about it. Hell, he doesn't even want me to know. I hear the sound coming from my computer, telling me I have a new message. It's from Ryan.

_Hey Seth, how are things going at home? I guess it's getting better day after day._

_I'm fine. Tell me about your College life. I'd really like to witness you threatening the campus of Berkeley. It starts to be cold and windy here, but I have to adapt to it. I've no other chance than this._

_Cheers_

_Ryan_

Prick. This e-mail is one lie as all the others had been in which he told me that he was 's far away from fine and doesn't have the guts to tell me. I feel the urge to slam my fist against the flickering screen with all these lied words. Who the fuck does he think he is? Fucking Superman or what? I should drive there, but I can't. I can't the fuck do anything for him. Fuck! I hate to be helpless. He'd done so much for me, why can't I do anything for him? I have to do something – anything. I at least need to let him know that I'm there for him now and I have to kick fucking sense into his head. Why in hell hadn't he been able to tell me on his own? Why does his fucking brother write a letter to me and tell me what's going on?


	3. 2 Change

**A/N.: Thanks to my Beta ParisAmy and thanks for all those nice reviews. Hope you'll enjoy this!

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_**2. Change – **__Some things change, my feelings for him didn't_

I put my son's laundry back into the shelves. I have to do something. Yes, I'm still working at the office, but my Dad had changed his mind. He doesn't allow me to work more than everyone else. I guess he'd been shocked when he found out what was wrong with me and I'm grateful he intervened. He'd been there for me and still is. He's there for me and my family. When I was in rehab he has been the one keeping things at home upright. He spent his days sailing with my son, showing him how to cook and do a fantastic barbecue. He went to the movies with him and allowed his grandson to introduce him into the world of comics. He finally became the Grandpa for my son I wished he could have been for so long. But better late than never and he had become a father to me. I can rely on him. I can talk about everything to him and he had left his prejudices behind. He became somehow soft, leaving the rough shell of business man at his office. He still conducts his business with a strong and rough hand, but when he's at home with us, he's another man. He even started having dinner with us every evening. It's a good feeling having him around that much. It really means something to me – he means something to me. We find the time to talk. We've sorted things out, beginning in the time of my childhood without a Dad, to his way of dealing with Mom's death. He visited me every day in rehab and he never left me alone. He gave me the feeling of finally having a Dad who cares about me, explaining that he always had been there, though not physically, but in his mind and he's visibly sorry that it hadn't been enough. He even made peace with my husband, but there is one secret he never talks about. I know there's something, but he refuses to tell me. I asked him once, why he had stood in the kitchen that one morning and turned all our lives upside down. Until today he never answered it. I know there must have been a trigger, but he won't allow me to find out. Tonight my Dad will cook for all of us in our kitchen and yes, I'm really looking forward to. I have a real family again, a …no…not a whole one. One part is missing and it hurts not knowing where this part is and how he feels. The day I came home from rehab, I hadn't expected him to jump for joy. I've been nasty enough to him for giving me the silent treatment for decades. I don't even want him to forgive me for what I've said to him. But he was gone and that had hurt more than every kind of ignorance he'd been able to impose on me. I sit down on my son's bed, starting to remember the time when Ryan was still with us, memories, which aren't so nice.

"_Kirsten I guess, you've had enough of it for today." He said and took the bottle away from me._

"_Who the fuck are you to tell me when it's enough and when not, huh?" I screamed at him. I had lost temper at the slightest occasions and usually – always –hit him. He was the punching bag for my aggressions which he the reason wasn't for._

"_Nobody, I know. I'm only worried." He always stayed calm. He never flipped or screamed back at me. He swallowed it all - no matter what I said to him. He took all of it and stood still, solid as a rock. I still admire him for his never ending patience. _

"_Nobody and that's still too much. You're fucking Chino scum. Your mother didn't even want you – not even your own mother wanted you around, so why the hell would I want to have you, huh?" I hysterically screamed at him. I feel so embarrassed when I think back to this behaviour. He didn't deserve it. He had done everything to make the whole situation easier for all us and I said all those hurtful things to him, as if they didn't mean a shit to him._

"_You shouldn't want me, but now I'm there." He answered quietly. If I'd been sober, I might have heard the sadness and hurt in his voice, but I nearly had one bottle of vodka in me and it hasn't even been noon. I slapped his face in frustration._

"_No back talk, do you get that!" I screamed, grabbed the bottle and disappeared. It was him, rubbing my back and holding my hair back together when the alcohol had taken its toll._

"_Shh…you'll be better soon." He said. When my stomach became calm again he'd given me a glass of warm water. Then I passed out and when I woke up I lay in my bed, tucked in. It must have been him, bringing me to bed. I can't imagine anyone else. He used to clean up after my puking. He did everything not to let people from the outside notice what was wrong in our household. He'd done everything for us and given us everything he had._

_When I came home from rehab, I entered the pool house. I had prepared myself for this step. I had to talk to him about this. I had to tell him that I was wrong and that I loved him – like a son and that I was grateful for his help and his composure; but the pool house had was empty and deserted. His cloths were still there – all cloths I had bought for him where neatly folded together in their shelves, but the life was gone. I checked the pool house, although you could detect everything at one view. He'd been gone and this reality hit me like a rock. I went back into the house._

"_Sandy, where's Ryan?" I asked my husband. Why hadn't he said anything? I mean…one of our sons had left, and he sat there drinking his morning coffee as if nothing had changed._

"_I don't know. The day your father came here, he was gone." He only answered, some tone of indifference swinging in his voice, but lay the newspaper aside, which made me relax about the tone again._

"_And why didn't you tell me?" I asked him._

"_I…thought it might be a little too much for you. I didn't want you to worry." He answered plainly, as if it would worry me any less now where I was home and felt the urge to embrace my family._

"_Do you care that he's gone?" I asked him. I had a curious feeling about this. He didn't even look concerned about Ryan's absence. In fact he was way too calm for the fact that one of our sons had left the house._

"_I do, but I can't change it. He didn't talk to me, nor do I know where he went." He replied. I couldn't believe the sound of his voice. It was impossible this could have been the man who brought Ryan home to us in first place. All the enthusiasm about having the boy as part of our family had vanished, as if it had never existed before._

"_Did you search for him? Call the police? Hell, Sandy, what if something has happened to him? What if he's hurt and alone? Maybe he needs help?" I've been frustrated. This behaviour my husband confronted me with was upsetting me._

"_Sorry, I couldn't." He whispered and then I detected a path of guilt in his voice, a feeling I didn't know was part of Sandy's emotional costume. _

"_Why? Sandy, what had happened between you and him?" I asked him._

"_Yes Dad, tell her how often you've slapped his face after he told you that Mom needs help." My son stepped into the kitchen. I looked startled at him. I had no idea what he was talking about._

"_Or tell her about the dinner incident, when Ryan cleared the table and accidentally dropped a glass." My son went on. _

"_Sorry." My husband said, guilt washing all over his face, before he disappeared._

"_Okay, then you'll tell me what's going on here."_

"_Sorry I can't. This is Dad's mess and I'm reluctant to sweep up the pieces he had caused."_

And that had it been. I still don't know what has happened, despite that my husband slapped his face, something I can't forgive him for. We were driving the strict no physical punishment policy and I saw no reason for breaching it. Despite that I can imagine that Ryan has had enough beatings in his life. He didn't need my husband doing so either. I can't even imagine what this must have caused in side of the boy. He had trusted us. And then first I turn out to be an alcoholic bitch like his mother and my husband as a violent asshole like his mother's boyfriends. I can understand that he left, but I miss him. I so badly want to explain to him what had caused my breakdown. I want to tell him that I didn't mean what I said to him and that I love him. There is so much I have to say to him. I never can. I don't know where he is, or whether he's well or not. That's the worse part. Not knowing, whether he's well. I'll never forgive myself if he was suffering and nobody was there to help him. Well, there are so many things I'll never forgive myself for. I have to let him go. I don't know why I hadn't searched for him. Maybe because it's hopeless. He's a smart boy. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be found. I don't even know if he's still in this state or this country. I take a deep breath. I miss him. His lopsided smiles when he doesn't know how to handle any kind of parental affection; his big blue eyes telling you everything, no matter how tough he tries to seem; his loyalty you can always rely on, no matter how hard you've been on him. I miss him. I want to get up, but my hand touches something…an envelope. I have a look. The handwriting is awful. Does Seth have a pen friend? I don't think so, despite that he's much too old for this. I look at the return address. Boston. Whom does he know in Boston? I have no clue. I get up and hear something dropping onto the floor. A letter. I put it back on the bed, but a quick look makes me hesitate. Did I read a 'Ryan'? I know I shouldn't read my son's mails, but…if this is about him? What…I don't care. I unfold the letter and start to read.

_Dear Seth,_

_I know we don't know each other. I'm Ryan's brother Trey. You might find it strange that I write you a letter instead of Ryan. I have to, because I know Ryan would never write this letter to you. As I guess you know him pretty good and that he'll never would show anyone if he doesn't feel well. I write to you, as I think you're his best friend. He's talking about you a lot and only in good manners. After this letter it's up to you, whether Ryan means as much to you as you mean to him._

_The reason for my letter is easy. Ryan's sick, really sick. I don't know how long he can hang on. I don't know, whether he'll make it. I only know that he has to work like an ox for the treatments and for keeping his scholarship. He's fading with every day more. They call it Leukaemia. I call it hell. He needs someone who can take care of him and find him a donor otherwise he won't make it. I beg you pleas to help him. As Ryan is talking about you, you seem to be quite a smart guy so please help us to find a solution. I can't help him any further and I don't know whether Ryan can help himself._

_Best regards,_

_Trey Atwood_

My heart is pounding heavy in my chest. I wanted a sign so badly, but not this. Oh my God. And… My head goes blank and I only feel deep sadness. He's sick and he has nobody who can take care of him. He's all alone in such a situation, even his brother doesn't want to be there for him – at least that's what the tenor of the letter says.

"Seth!" I call my son. I have to talk to him about this. My son comes upstairs. He sees the letter in my hand.

"Mom…you can't read my mail! It's private!" He announces me and in every other case he would've been right, but under these circumstances I can't be bothered by his right of privacy.

"Yes? I don't think that this is only your business. When did you think to tell one of us?" I ask him. I have trouble to stay calm. My lost son…is somewhere, seriously sick with nobody who can take care of him.

"I…I don't know, but honestly I can't ask Dad, after what had happened between the both of them I'm pretty much sure that Dad is the last person Ryan wants to have around and…and you didn't seem to care a lot, when you found out that Ryan was gone." He says. His voice is cold and steely and I ask myself since when my son can be that ice cold. This must be the Nichols genes, because he can't have that from my husband.

"Seth! How can you say that? Of course I cared and I was…sad and still am that he's gone." I justify my actions. We oughtn't to fight. This here was too serious as if we have time to fight about negligibility. We need to act now and not only after a few days. Leukaemia…Ryan…this…

"Seth, do you even understand what this means? Ryan is seriously sick and he needs our help."

"Shit Mom, I know that!" He screams at me. He became more mature, but with the maturity he found his temper.

"Seth! What's wrong with you? Why do you freak out like that?" I ask him.

"It's…because…we're writing each other e-mails…everyday…but he never only once mentioned that he doesn't feel well. It's always the same. I'm fine and then only how I am." He says and sits down next to me. One news after another.

"You've stayed in contact after he left and you didn't see any necessity to tell me – or us?" I ask him.

"I…he told me not to. Mom, he was hurt, badly hurt. He'd…he'd done so much for me…he stayed although he wanted to leave and he let me stay overnight when I couldn't bear it in this house anymore. He has been there for me and helped me. I…couldn't break his trust in this." He explains to me. I put a reassuring hand onto my son's shoulder.

"Do…you think you can allow me to help?" I ask him. He's the only one who still knows Ryan. He's the only one who can tell me which step is the right one.

"I…don't know. I only know that I don't want to involve Dad in this…but I also don't know what to do. I mean…this…is huge…right?" He asks and looks into my eyes. There was sadness all over his face.

"Yes, it is." He nods. "Seth, let me take care of this…let us both take care of this. Right now Ryan needs a lot of help and…I don't want you to get…I don't want you to handle this, because this is nothing you could or should handle. Not in your age." I tell him. I want to keep him away from this, although I think he might be my only device to get through to Ryan. I notice that both of my boys were too young for what I have put them through. They are both too young for the life experiences they already have and I don't need to add another experience to Seth's still growing bundle of experiences. I'm afraid one day he might not be able to tell the good from the bad ones.

"I don't know…I mean, after your Mum and…" My son starts. I see the concern in his eyes. He had become so awfully mature during the short time since he had been at college that I feel the urge to make him a kid again.

"Don't worry about that. Right now it's only about Ryan and how…to…" I can't talk. The thought of meeting Ryan again mixed with the thought how this might end and how this might have ended if we hadn't known about any of this start to rebel and tears stream down my face.

"You really missed him." Seth says and takes me into his arms. It should be the other way round. But I'm thankful for him being there. I get reminded of my mother's sickness and how awful she perished. I don't want to watch Ryan like this. He's supposed to be the strong boy. I can't even think about him…like that. I can't watch my son dying, but I also can't turn my back and not care. He's still my son, no matter whether I did give birth to him or not and I don't care that I haven't seen him for more than a year now. I can't watch him die, thus I only can help him to get through to this. I have to. This is my job as a Mom and I am his fucking Mom and I don't care what anybody else says! I'll push him through this, oh no, he's not going to do what my Mom had done to me. I won't allow him.

"Can…can I ask you something?" My son asks when my tears run dry and I have won my composure back. I nod.

"The…the fact that he…has this thing…"

"Leukaemia." I say. We need to face the facts. It's no help if we hide and pretend as if the reality doesn't exist. We have to start to deal with it as soon as possible. Ignorance only leads to conflicts. I have witnessed how ignoring the facts had destroyed my family. I won't let it happen this time.

"I mean…that doesn't mean that he'll die, or? I mean there's a chance that he'll survive, right?"

"Yes, but it depends on how his shape is. Sweetie, I don't want to scare you, but it may well be that this letter already comes too late." The bloody truth. I can't lie to him to protect him. He's too old for that. He doesn't need to be protected that way. In addition to that it'll be the best for us that we get used to this idea as soon as possible. Nothing hurts more then destroyed hopes.

"So we should hope that we aren't too late?" He asks.

"Yes." Is all I can say before I take him into my arms. I know he's already an old man, but I can't resist this.

My Dad comes by early in the evening. It's always a pleasure when he enters the house. It's like a new wave of good mood comes by and that's what I – we, Seth and I – need right now. I wait until my Dad disappears in the kitchen. Then I can be sure he'll be alone or we'll be alone. My husband only enters the kitchen for breakfast and anything else cooked by his hand his barbecued. I enter the kitchen and watch his experienced hands preparing the dinner.

"Dad," I say to get his attention, and he looks at me. My expression must be enough to tell him that it is serious. He lays the knife aside.

"What's wrong Kiki?" He asks me.

"I need a few days off at the office." I tell him.

"And that's it?" He asks me. I don't want to tell him. I'm afraid if I tell him it might ruin our relationship. It's harsh to think, but I don't want anything else coming between him and me again. He's a big support for me and I fear when he leaves me again I break down under all the pressure.

"You know that you can talk to me about everything, right?" He asks me. I'm not sure, whether I can talk to him about this topic. He never liked Ryan and never tried to hide his distrust towards him.

"I…" I start. He takes my hand and guides me to the kitchen table. We sit down across from each other. I take a deep breath. Now it's the moment in which it's shown how good our relationship really is; or whether it only had been some kind of charade.

"Seth received a letter from Ryan…or better from his brother about Ryan." I say. Now it's out. I'm waiting for a reaction: the vein at his temple pulsing, his jaw clenching, something like that, something I can tell that he's angry.

"Really? I thought today everything is going via e-mail." Huh? I look at him. Something is wrong with this man. I can't hide my astonishment. I didn't count on that reaction.

"Don't look at me like that." My father says. How am I supposed to look?

"Well, I have to, because I was prepared for one of your harangues about how bad the boy is." I answer honestly.

"I've changed my mind."

"Why? And when?"

"It's a long story. So how is the boy?" He asks and I'm more and more astonished and curious. What went on between the two of them I didn't notice? What long story do they share?

"He…He's not good. He has leukaemia." I tell him and he nods to show me to go on. "Actually his brother wrote a letter, telling Seth how bad Ryan is and that he needs help. I guess the treatments are too expensive…he has to work to pay for them…I don't know. It's…he and Seth stayed in contact and in all the e-mails Seth received he never mentioned anything about it."

"And now you want to go and help him." My father concludes.

"Yes, I mean I have to. I…it sounds stupid, but I still feel like his mother." I admit to him. I see a concerned and worried expression on his face. I hadn't count on this reaction. This man really had changed and it surprises me every day.

"You should go and help him. Go to Boston and try to get him here. You know that he can get the best treatment here. And if he needs anything else, let me know."

"First of all I want to know where my father is and what happened to his body and second, the letter states something about the necessity of a donor, probably bone marrow." I say. I'm glad to have my father's support in this. I know I won't have Sandy's. I can't ask him to. I don't know what had happened between them, thus I need to trust my son, but I'm scared. My father had changed awfully and I don't know why. And how the heck does he know that Ryan lives in Boston? Did I mention it? Probably. Or did Seth tell him? I can't imagine, because we all had been afraid of his tirades.

"I'll see what I can arrange. You're flying tomorrow?" He asks me.

"I think so." He gets up and takes me into a strong hug.

"We'll push him through to this, I promise. We can help him." He says and pecks the top of my head.

We. I never had expected this 'we' in any case involving Ryan. Something has changed. A lot has changed. Not everything had become better, but some things have and that's better than nothing.

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**A/N.: **I think you need to know that I don't own a medical degree. I am only a law student, who got involved in the question of the legality of nuclear power plants in respct to the potential risks of escaping radiation from the final storage. That's why I got to read a lot about cancer, espcially leukaemia, because it's said - but in the case I'm concerned with not yet proved - that these are side effects of escaping radiation from final storages. This is part of environmental law and thus I'm reading a lot reports and artciles, but I'm not capable of distinguishing when people are just exaggerating, because they want the government placing the final storage somewhere else, and I also don't garantuee that I understood all articles I read so far. But if you want to tell me anything about this topic or when I've made a mistake, let me know =) Otherwise I hope you can accept my amateurish descriptions.


	4. 3 Trapped

**A/N.:** I wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new year. Thanks to my beta for her really very good job and thanks for all the nice reviews. I hope you'll like this chapter =)

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_**3. Trapped – **__two versus one is one too much_

I slowly crawl to the surface and out of the oblivion into the hurtful reality of consciousness. A pounding headache reminds me that I really wish I'd never wake up again. I don't know when the last time had been that I woke up without one. Shit. I can't even remember waking up without feeling crappy. My neck hurts, my back too. What the fuck…my whole body is one pain and it feels like never ending sore muscles. I take a deep breath. I have no choice. I have to go to my lectures. I have to hand in the assignment and I have to start my other paper today and I have to go the architect's office. Okay it's a lot, but I can manage it. I just need five more minutes. Chills run through my body and I crawl a little deeper under the blankets. I listen to the rain drumming against the window. Honestly: I hate seasons, especially fall and winter. It's wet and cold. I miss the relaxing California sun. Another wave of chills runs through me and I have to clench my jaw tight not to make my teeth shatter. I have no choice. I have to get up. Now. I just try to remember when the last time had been that I woke up without pain, but well rested and ready to start into the day. Days started to be long dragging and full packed of duties that I feel slightly overtaxed every morning when I start to run through my to do list. I have to stop this and get the fuck up. I turn my head and take a look at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven? Noon? Why…hadn't my clock buzzed at six as it was supposed to? I immediately sit up. Bad idea. The room starts spinning and a wave of dizziness hits me. I take some deep breaths to gain back my steadiness and wait for my vision to clear. This is a bad nightmare. I have to attend the lectures, and I'll fail my class if I don't hand in my paper and start working on the other one. Oh holly shit, my boss is going to kill me if I don't show up to the office today and I can't allow myself to lose the job. I start to really panic now. I have to hurry if I want to hand in the paper on time. I reach for my hoodie on the floor. I'm freezing. I get up, this time slowly and make my way to the bathroom. I've forgotten that hurry is a nice word I have to expel from my list of what I still can do. Again one thing less. Great. The day hasn't even started yet – for me for that matter – and it already starts to get worse and worse each passing minute.

"Hold on bro, you're not going anywhere." I hear my brother behind me. Shit. I'd forgotten we're living in a one and a half room apartment with bathroom or better bath-hole. I left my brother the small spare room, because I've been witness of too many girl-stories. This means I'm sleeping in the kitchen-living-room, which again means I have no free second and am always in danger of being patronized. He grabs my arm and guides me back to bed.

"Trey, stop that shit! I'm already late and I have to…"

"Kill yourself I know, but not in front of my eyes." He says and forces me down onto the bed. I don't think that this is funny at all. He knows too well about my situation as if he could act like that.

"Trey, that's not funny." I look at him and in his face I can read everything and right now I read: lack of comprehension for my situation.

"Oh no, don't tell me you have switched off the alarm." It starts to make click. I'm angry. I hate it when he starts to treat me like a crippled child that has to be hovered and smothered. He doesn't have to act around me like I'm breakable. I'm not completely healthy, but it doesn't mean that I'll drop dead in an instant. He has to stop treating me like that. It's driving me crazy.

"Yesterday night. Yes I did and what now? Huh? Fuck, Ry…you've been completely out of it. You need to rest." He admonishes me. Who is he to talk to me as if he was my parent? He rather minds his own business before he decides for me what I can do and what not.

"And what about my lectures? Shit…I can't afford to flunk. This is a scholarship I have to achieve a high score and…" I explain him again, but am cut off by his voice.

"Now stop this whining and listen. I called your department and told them about your condition and before you complain about me raising pity, let me finish. Maybe I do, but right now I don't care, because this saved your ass for the next couple of months. I'll go later and pick up a form for you to you fill stating that you're sick and then they can't kick you out or take away the scholarship. I'll hand in your assignment, when I'm on my way to work." I don't like it if people start to care about my business and this is my fucking business.

"And what about my job." Without my job I'm really fucked and he knows that. We need the money. We need everything we can get.

"Indeed they weren't happy, but they understood. They have to, because in your state you're not going back there soon. You shouldn't worry anything but yourself right now. I can make enough money and…" I hate the concern in his voice, the pity and the worry as if I'm already dead. I'm not and I don't plan to be soon. I'm not doomed to dead. I'm just a little handicapped right now, no reason to treat me as if I'm of porcelain.

"Fuck you Trey, how the hell do you think this should work? We need this income."

"I don't care. Then I have to step back I don't know…but I'm not watching you, how you kill yourself."

"I'm not…" I want to counter, but he doesn't let me.

"You're puking your guts out. The only food you can manage to keep is plain rice and juice. You're in pain every single day, you're freezing and…if they hadn't given you a break from this fucking treatment you only would be semi-conscious like a zombie. I'm your big brother and I've done a lot of shit and I've hurt you more than once. But I'm not going to watch you, ruing yourself. This time it's my turn to watch out and I will do so. And now you go back to bed, under these blankets and rest. I don't want you to catch another cold in addition to all of that." He's my brother? Semi-brother or half-brother as they call it. If I had known that my Mum meant it when she called me a fucking accident. I'm not Frank Atwood's son. I don't know whose, but definitely not Frank Atwood's. Indeed I'm an accident.

"_I don't need to get tested to know that my bone marrow is no match to yours." My brother told me, after I asked him, whether he would get tested – save my life. _

"_How do you want to know?" I asked him. I thought he only was afraid of the tests. I didn't know what he knew then. Until then I thought that everything was going to be okay again._

"_I know it." It had been a defeating statement. My own brother said no, although he knew I needed his help._

"_Okay, can you at least get tested anyway? They only draw a blood sample." I asked him again and he agreed. He'd been right. He was no match. We'd tried to find my Mom, but we hadn't had any luck. She was too much of a junkie as if they would allow her to donate anything anyway. So I remained defeated and with the thought in my head that I probably would die. The realisation that I was suffering from a severe illness struck me hard then. Nothing was going to be okay that soon again. There was no escape. If they found nobody, it didn't matter how much chemistry infiltrated my system. I wouldn't make it anyway. I guess the first week had been the worse. Of course they told you about all side effects and stuff, but living through it is much worse than only listening to it. I felt worse like crap. I wished my brother had kept his gun, I'd known a very good purpose of use. I never thought that pain and puking could become such a routine that you don't mind it anymore, but that has happened over the last few months. It's not as bad anymore, but then it had been. I was lying in bed curled up as small as possible and only wanted to die._

"_Hey Ry, here you need to drink something." My brother said and brought me a mug of hot steaming tea. I tried to sit up, but all my limps felt like jelly. I couldn't support myself._

"_Here, but only small sips. You need to keep it down." He said and sat down on the edge of the bed._

"_Thanks."_

"_At least something I can do for you." He said and then we stayed in silence. Trey isn't like Seth. He isn't much of a talker too. We sometimes just sit and stay silent. It's not like we have to talk to each other all the time. We can communicate even on a non verbal level._

"_You know this isn't your fault." He started out of a no-where and I haven't understood what he wanted to tell me through this._

"_You know Mom always was a bitch. And she…one day she and Dad had a fight. I don't know about what it was. I only know that Mom was gone for a while. I tell you, the time with Dad alone was the best I ever had. I wish you could have experienced it too. As Mom came back one day, she'd been pregnant. It wasn't Dad's child that was for sure. But do you know what? He didn't care. Of course he was angry at Mom, but when you finally were born he didn't care that you wasn't his. For him you always have been. He loved you as much as he loved me. He only couldn't show it sometimes. I think that he'd been better off without Mom and only with us. I think it would've been much easier for all of us." He said. I hadn't known. Nobody had told me. My Mom had, but I never thought that she was right about that. I'd been shocked. A sober person telling you that you are not much more than the result of an act of frustration can be painful and it was really painful._

"_Don't worry Ryan. It doesn't change anything. It never had and it never will. For me you're my baby bro and nothing can change that." He assured me. I wasn't sure. This felt like a slap into my face, as I've been living a lie for quite a time, but I was grateful that my brother told me. I knew what was going on, so nothing to worry about._

"_Are you okay?" He asked. I only nodded. I had trouble talking. I mean not my usual trouble. It was just too difficult right now. I was shocked and in pain and exhausted and I couldn't get a word out of my mouth._

"_Good, go back to sleep. You'll have to eat later and I don't want to hear any complains, not even about my cooking, understood?" I nodded again and then crawled back under the blankets, blacking out the reality around me._

"Hey, earth to Ryan. Are you okay man?" My brother drags me out of my memories.

"Uh…yeah…just been thinking."

"Okay, then lie down again."

"Taking a shower?" I ask him. I'm freezing and at least a hot shower will make me feel warm for a few minutes.

"But quickly, I'll have to head for my job soon." My brother answers. I get up. No, not good. My head starts swimming and my legs start to get limb. I start to hate this. First I complain that my brother is treating my like a cripple and now I can't even get up on my own.

"Hold on bro." My brother grabs my arm and steadies me. "Wasn't such a bad idea to stay home, what?" He asks. I don't respond. I don't want to give him credit for what he did, although honestly right now it really doesn't seem to be a bad idea to take a day off. When my vision is clear again I go to the bathroom. I step into the shower and turn on the water. I have to wait quite a while, until the water gets hot. Then I stand under the shower, hot water pouring over my aching limps and for a little while I feel better as if the ache was gone during the day. I know too well this isn't going to be the case, but I keep the soothing illusion in my mind, until I step out and start to rub my body dry.

"You alright?" My brother asks. I nod. My tongue once again feels too heavy to be moved. He's definitely right. Staying home today probably isn't such a bad idea. I go back to the bed.

"Good boy. Here's the TV remote, here's the phone – call me if something happens. I'll call you at noon, check whether you're alright. Here's a can of tea, juice, water and some crackers. You need to eat something. You haven't eaten anything yesterday." I open my mouth to reply to that.

"No backtalk. I know what I've seen and that has been pretty much nothing." I feel like five. I don't care. My body is aching and every single fibre of my body screams for more sleep. No, staying home really isn't such a bad idea. When I lie down, I close my eyes. Chills run through my spine and I can't hinder my body from shaking. I feel something heavy falling onto my body. I open my eyes. Trey is draping another thick blanket over me.

"Better?" He asks. I nod again, not even in the mood for expressing my answer in words. I close my eyes again and get drowned in the smooth veil of oblivion's darkness.

A shrill noise wakes me up. Not good. Really not good for my headache. I don't open my eyes and hope it was only a bad dream. The door bell screams again. No, no bad dream. Right in this moment I feel warm and cosy. I don't want to leave the bed. The door bell screams again. Okay, I have no chance. Either my head explodes or I freeze to death. Not really good choices. I slowly get up. When I'm on my two feet again I feel a wave of dizziness hitting me. I have to wait. The door bell screams once again. Does this fucking thing know that I'm not going to be faster only because it knows how to shrill? I slowly make my way. I can imagine only one person behind this door and this is not funny. I turn the door knob.

"Trey, you don't need to babysit…" No this is not Trey. Trey has no long blond hair and Trey is definitely no female.

He opens the door. He's pale and has dark circles under his eyes. He's lost weight, but it doesn't look as if it was too much. He doesn't look like my mother did. Nevertheless the outlines of his face are sharper than they used to be.

"Ryan?" I ask him. I see that he hadn't counted on seeing me.

"Kirsten? What are you doing here?" She's the last person I counted on to see here. How? I mean, I haven't told Seth to tell her where to find me. What is she doing here? I left. I'm not her business anymore. I don't want to be her business anymore. I've made a clean cut. They should accept that.

"Can I come in?" I ask him. I don't want to face this in a crappy hallway. Also I need to check how deep and wide the gap is where once had been a relationship.

"Oh…yeah…but don't expect too much." Oh my Gosh. Kirsten in this apartment? This only can cry for trouble. I let her in though. I don't want to seem impolite.

"Did I wake you?" I ask him another question to sooth the undeniable tension between us. There are blankets spread all over the floor, which lie the assumption close that he has been asleep when I rung the bell.

"Uh…no…not really." I lie. I don't want to make her snoop around in my business. Shit. What am I supposed to do? I left them and I never thought I'd see them – her again, and now this. Shall I behave like the latest fashion of asshole and throw her out, or pretend that nothing stood between us? Both options are bad choices, because both would be lies. I should act as normal as possible around her, when normal even exists in such a situation.

"Uh…can I get you something…tea or coffee or…" I need to offer her something. I need to do something to distract me from the thought that she's here for real. First I thought that I started hallucinating again. I did once, after my second round of chemo. But her scent, I never could only imagine that. And this warm smile. I have missed it, yes. But when I went off, it had been gone. Why is it there again? What has happened during the time I've left them? And why does she still care?

"A tea would be great." I answer his question. It hurts to see how fragile he seems to be. He moves carefully and I can see that he clenches his jaw. He's in pain – probably a lot of pain. I see how he stares at the kettle. He's uncomfortable around me. He has enough reasons to. He'd left us, because of me and no matter how often my son wants to tell me that it was because of something my husband did - deep down I know that I'm one of the reasons. The water boils. He pours it into two mugs. He places one with shaking hands in front of me.

"How are you?" I ask him. I hope for an honest answer and that I can set a conversation going.

"Uh…I'm fine." I answer. There's no way I'm telling her the truth. Hell, what shell I do? I feel like caught in a trap, a feeling I never appreciated too much.

"Are you sure? You look a little under the weather." I don't want to go like a bull at the gate. I'm afraid he might back off immediately. I'm glad that he let me in.

"Yeah…just a little cold…nothing serious. You know all the germs flying around in the lecture theatres." I answer her. I forgot that I must look like shit. Of course several months of chemo leave their marks – obvious marks. So why circumvent the inevitable? Because of my pride and my dignity. Two things I still have left and won't let go off in near time.

"You are studying here?" I ask him another question. He only nods. Starting a civilized conversation with him is like pulling teeth. He doesn't even look into my eyes. His answer though astonishes me. I hadn't thought he would hold onto his dream after he'd left. He'd been such a helpless kid when he came to us first. He has had no dreams. I still know his answer to my question what he wanted to be – seventeen. He had given up his dream and instead just had wanted to survive. How desperate must a teen be when he thinks like that? And now he had grown out of his misery and moulded himself a life worthy of living for.

"And where?" I go on pushing him into a conversation, hoping that this might be the right basis for a new start.

"Harvard." I answer plainly. No need for embellish a simple fact. I feel a little guilty, through this interrogation, because I can figure out why she wants to know all of this and because I can't give her the friendly detailed version, but only the plain indifferent one. Not really fair, after she made the whole way here to see and talk to me. Nonetheless I want to know why she's here, but I don't like to ask. I'm afraid I might scare her away then and I don't want her to leave – not now. I must have forgotten how much warmth she brings with her presence. It's like she carries a natural comfort with her, which wraps you into smooth and soft warmth, something I'm not yet ready to give up.

"Wow. I assume a scholarship." I say and he nods. I hate to beat around the bush, but I'm afraid of scaring him away with a direct question. I want to keep this moment only for a few more seconds. I have forgotten with how much familiarity the room is filled with when he is present. Notwithstanding anger issues, he has a calm aura, which offers you to relax and feel safe when you're together with him. Silence drops down on us like a heavy ceiling. I don't know anymore to say and he isn't offering anything from his side.

"A cold, huh?" I ask him harshly and directly. I'm fed up with tip toeing on eggshells around the obvious. It never helped, but has been the reason why my family nearly broke apart. I won't ruin anything again only by staying silent about the truth. Nevertheless all I can do is hope that he might tell me the truth, but he won't. He won't tell me, even if he still was living with us. He never let us in into his inner circle.

"Uh…yeah." I see her worried concerned look, which tells me that this worry and concern are the reasons for her visit. Not just a polite 'hey-how-are-you' visit, but one with purpose. Anger starts spreading through my body, tensing up every single fibre of me. Has Seth…Seth this little fucking…but, wait he can't know, because I didn't tell him – okay I didn't tell him, because talking isn't happening lately; but I also didn't write him about my whereabouts. So how…? My mind goes blank, because there's no plausible answer available in it.

"Okay, let's stop this. I've seen the letter your brother wrote to Seth." I say bluntly into his face. Now all cards are out. I watch his body tension growing and I'm surprised that a weakened body is still capable of such a tension.

"What letter?" What the hell? Trey? This bastard. I'll kill him, honestly. This isn't funny. I don't know how to vent the anger inside of me, without breaking something.

"He wrote Seth that you were very sick and that you needed help. I know that you have leukaemia and it's obvious that you don't feel too well." I reply. He looks at me, shock written all over his face.

"So Trey had been gone pleading my charity case?" I ask her. I don't want to be mean, but I'm so damn fucking pissed off that it's impossible to remain polite.

"He only wrote Seth that you need help that's all." I answer to sooth him, but I'm afraid he might draw back. He doesn't look too happy about me knowing about it.

"And what does my brother suggest you to do?" I ask. I'm more than angry and I'm beyond upset. What the hell is going on? I open the door and there's Kirsten confronting me with my misery and hopelessness. Do I really look as if I needed that right now? No. I don't need it.

"Nothing. I only wrote Seth that you need help and someone who can take care of you." I hear my brother's voice coming from the door.

"Ry, I'm sorry bro, but I can't do this anymore." Trey enters the apartment or hole, or whatever we're living in. No, this is far beyond funny. This wasn't what I consider as concerned brother behaviour. This is cornering someone. Two versus one. How am I supposed to battle this? This is not fair at all.

I see the helplessness in Trey's eyes. Who thought he would ever be that concerned about his little brother? I didn't. I can understand him. He was too young to take care of a critically ill little brother. Hell, I hadn't been able to deal watching my mother die and I was a lot older then. I can't imagine how it is to watch his little brother…no…stop. Ryan isn't dying. He's seriously ill, but he isn't dying. I have to tell myself this as often as I believe it. Otherwise I'm no help for Ryan.

"And now you just shirk me off, like a…pet during the summer holidays or what?" I have no idea what's going on in this head of his. I thought he was okay. Didn't I already do everything to get him out of this? I try to get him as less involved as possible. I didn't tell him to stay and sweep up…the puke and other body liquids when I hadn't been able to reach the bathroom in time. It was his decision. It was his decision that I stay home from now on. I didn't tell him to take care of anything then himself. And heck he's old enough for that.

He feels attacked. Of course he does. He was caught off guard and sick, both attributes he couldn't handle very well. But I need to get the situation under control. He has to save his strength and not waste it on some kind of stupid unnecessary fight.

"Ryan…nobody is shirking you off. Trey is only aware of that you need more care than he can offer you and he has figured out who can give it to you." I say calmly. I try to sooth him. He has to come down again.

What the heck does she want to tell me? I'm not going to fall for her words. I left for good and she knows that. If I had wanted to stay in contact with them – if I had wanted something from them I would have expressed it. But I don't want anything, but my peace.

"This is not going to work." I only answer. I have to leave this madhouse. This is driving me crazy.

I see how agitated he is. This didn't work well, but I don't want to stop him. I'm in no position to tell him what he's supposed to do. I let him down and failed him. I behaved like…the last man on earth towards him. Indeed I have no right to say anything. But I have a duty after I let him into my house and got him involved in my alcoholism and threatened him out of the house. He wasn't just a boy I knew once. He's not only a friend of my son's. He's more for me – for us. I watch him walking towards the door, shaking his head in disbelief. He opens the door and nearly storms out of the apartment.

"Ryan, don't go…stay! Shit!" Trey shouts after his brother and follows him. He catches up on him on the street. I watch them through the window. Ryan must still have a lot of strength left when he can manages stairs that fast, but I worry. He's standing outside in the pouring rain. I see how his brother garbs his arm and turns him around. He's screaming something into his brother's face. I can tell him screaming doesn't lead to anything in Ryan's case. He lets off on his brother. I see how Ryan disappears in the cold and rainy night.

"How long did you plan to stay?" Trey asks me, when he's back in the apartment.


	5. 4 Bad Conscience

**A/N.: **I still own nothing and am not making any profit out of this, but I hope that the POV-Confusion is lessened through my new attempt ;)

* * *

_**4. Bad Conscience –**__ We were supposed to be better_

_**K.**_

"As long as it takes me to convince Ryan from coming with me." I answer him. He nods. He has an edge I haven't seen on Ryan. He looks rough and somehow unpredictable, but he's shy and concerned at the same time.

_**T.**_

If I could I would beat the shit out of my baby bro. I have so no idea what's going on in his fucking head. I need to knock some sense into it, but I can't even touch him, without making him look like he had taken a beating from the College football team. Right now I could kill him. Since when is he so fucking sensitive?

_**K.**_

"Could take a while." Trey answers and pours me another mug of tea. I need to sooth him and tell him that his attempt isn't for nothing. I would help him, both of them. They needed me and I would be there for them. I have to explain him that what he's doing is no betrayal, although it might look like that on first watch.

_**T.**_

I feel so embarrassed by my brother's behaviour in front of this woman. She really seems to want to help us and him? He just pushes away everything and everyone. He has to understand that he can't go on like this. He needs the help. He isn't strong enough to go the whole way alone, but he doesn't want to see that. He and his fucking pride.

_**K.**_

"For how long is he sick?" I ask Trey. I need to be in the picture about everything, need to know how serious it is to find the right help for both of them.

_**T.**_

"It was diagnosed seven months ago." I answer her. He's fighting this for seven months now and he still hasn't understood the seriousness behind this.

"I just…it had been awful…I mean…Ryan never was sick and he took beatings like no others…and now he can't even get up in the morning." I tell her. I don't know why I tell her. It's the first time I can talk to someone about it and it's the first time someone is actually listening to me.

_**K.**_

"Tell me about it." I encourage him, discovering his need to talk about it. My own thoughts run in circles of panic. Seven months? Oh my god. This is even more serious than I thought it was.

"What do you mean? Are you seriously interested in a medical description of all this?" He asks me warily. Both: Trey and Ryan can't warp their heads around the fact that there are actually people who don't turn their backs on them as soon as a problem occurs on the threshold of their lives. It hurts to see how distrustful two young men can be – how destiny played pranks on them.

"How did you find out? What happened?" I try to get him to talk. This is not only for him getting relief, but even for me to know how bad it really is. I want to be prepared when I face Ryan again.

"I don't know. I just realized that something was wrong."

_**T.**_

_We moved together from California to Boston. He wanted to keep me out of trouble, after he caught me dealing some drugs. It was rough at the beginning to share a flat. I mean in Chino it was okay, because I was out most of the time and Ryan was too; added to that the Chino rent isn't really high, which means that your responsibilities are much less than here. When we came here things started to change immediately, not only because of the higher rents for a hole like this. You know Ryan. He's ambitious and doesn't want to screw things up, and I had to learn this attitude. I simply wasn't used to this stable and steady life: getting up in the morning, going to work, coming back in the evening, relax a bit, get to bed and the next day the same routine. In fact Ryan has had a tough fight to make me stick to our agreement that I stay out of trouble and hold down a job. It took a while for me to realise that if I wanted to live here too, I had to carry some of the responsibilities as well. _

"_Trey, shit, turn the music off." He gave me the little room as bedroom, I think because he has caught me much too often making out with some girl in here. That's why he sleeps in the living-kitchen-room. I didn't care that he still was asleep. I didn't care about anyone then myself then. I had to learn respect the needs of others and Ryan was the one teaching me._

"_Why? You're awake now." I answered. I didn't turn off the music, until Ryan pulled the plug. He was looking miserable lately, but I thought he was just overdoing it with his ambition. Well, he was overdoing it too, but I didn't know that he didn't feel well and had already for weeks. He never talks about things like that._

"_Fuck you Ryan, don't you have a job to do or something? Don't you need to be somewhere?" I've been pissed off. I hated his schoolmaster-know-it-all-attitude and fact that he as right with it as well, as every time he reproached me for something. He's always been the good one, the one who did the right things, and worst of all was that he always got through with it._

"_I could ask the same. What about your job?"He barked back at me._

"_Nothing, have none." I thought it was cool. It wasn't. I know how important it is to have a good job, not only because of the pay check. It keeps you out of trouble and gives you some kind of perspective. One day I started to understand my brother. Really I started night school to get my degree, but back then I didn't care. I wanted to be free and my own master._

"_Shit Trey, I can't work for both of us. I have to comply with the requirements for the scholarship. I can't spend my whole time on a job." He explained me. I thought it was posh. I mean scholarship at Harvard was nothing for normal people, but for rich and snobbish ones. In my point of view he didn't fit into this picture. He was only pretending to be one of them when in reality he wasn't._

"_Then stop…what the hell this ever is." I said and took one of his books only by its back._

"_Trey, be careful they're expensive." Ryan said. I didn't pay attention and instead started waving it around._

"_Trey, stop it!" He screamed at me. I didn't stop and then he got to me and tried to grab the book out of my hand. I pushed him away, a little harder than intended, but effectually._

"_Stop the shit!" Ryan screamed. He reached for the book, but I grabbed his arm and tore it away._

"_Trey…stop…" Eventually I was bored and gave him the book back. He started to study that morning until late night. He used to study ten hours in a row and longer. He wouldn't even stop for a dinner break, if I hadn't placed it in front of his face. I looked at the wrist – it was the one I held hours earlier to keep him from getting to me – it was black and blue._

"_Dude, what's that?" I asked him and pointed at the wrist, disbelieving that the colour has been my doing._

"_Your violence." He growled. He was pissed off about my behaviour, with reasons._

"_C'mon, I've never held you with that much force." _

"_Probably you did, because it looks like that."Oh yeah, he'd been really very pissed off and I had a bad conscience, especially when I saw that the spot on his chest - where I had pushed him - was black and blue too._

_From then every fight ended like that and at the end I didn't even dare to touch him, because I feared he might suffer a new bruise. _

"_Hey bro, what happened to your leg? That looks dangerous."His whole thigh had been bruised and red. This time I've been sure that the cause hadn't been me. I hadn't touched him in ages._

"_Do you believe me when I tell you that I have no idea?"_

"_No, because the cause of this bruise can't be forgotten."_

"_Sorry to disappoint you, but apparently it can." He said and then I realized that his upper arm was patched with several small bruises like his back was as well._

"_Okay baby bro, stop the shit and tell me who kicked your ass?"I was getting angry, because no matter how bad I tease him, he's still my baby bro and I have to protect him somehow. It's also frustrating that my four years younger brother is so much more mature than I am and that he lets me feel it._

"_Trey, I promise I don't know. Hell, Trey you know I'm not a good liar."He had a point. A lying Ryan would have looked different._

_I started to be really scared to touch him, but he wouldn't wake up on the buzz of his alarm clock and I know he would've kicked my ass if I had ignored it. I had to shake him like hell to get him to wake up._

"_Hey Ry, you need to get up."_

"'_m tired."_

"_Yeah, I know, but you have to think of your scholarship."_

"_Headache." It should have become clear to me that something wasn't right then. He never complains about anything in front of people and at the mention of his scholarship he should have jumped out of bed. Nothing has ever been more important to him than his scholarship._

"_I get you a Tylenol and then you get up."Things went on like that. He was having headache after headache and I blamed his studies and his job for it, because he was putting himself under way too much stress._

"_Ryan, step out of the bathroom. I have a date with Lyra!" _

"_Yeah…just one minute." He started to take overlong showers – too hot for my taste, close to the boiling point._

"_Some day you'll boil yourself." He nearly crawled out of the bathroom. He'd stopped to work out and his movements were very slowly and careful. _

"_You don't look too good man." I said. He looked like he was coming down with something or as if he already had a fever._

"_Don't feel like that. I just go and crash." He said and then went to bed. When I went out he had already been asleep. I've watched him more carefully then. I started to be afraid he might ruin his health due to all the pressure. He never went to bed that early, always worked on something and now he was even too tired to study._

_One evening I watched him doing a paper. He can be very quick and he's working very precisely. I heard something was dripping, but it wasn't the tap in the kitchen. When he's working the flat is awfully silent. You can hear every noise, no matter how silent it is._

"_Uh…Ry, maybe…here." I handed him a tissue, when I saw the cause if the noise. His nose had started bleeding just like that._

"_Oh…shit…thanks." From that day on his nose started bleeding more often just out of nothing. I should have been worried, but I wasn't and blamed the caffeine for it. He was drinking coffee at all hours of the day. This couldn't be healthy. The last straw had been a couple of days afterwards. _

"_Trey, can you prepare dinner tonight, I'm really tired."He said. I was pissed off. The agreement was cooking by turns and it had been his idea. He was supposed to stick to it._

"_C'mon I've been on duty yesterday. You know about our agreement." I announced him._

"_Yeah…you're right." He answered and then went into the kitchen. Honestly: at least he can cook. When I prepare something it usually ends up in a mess. I was reading, because I had started my night school and Ryan said he would kill me if I didn't take it seriously. I only got disturbed by a thud. When I looked up from my book into the kitchen Ryan was gone. I went to look what caused the noise and found Ryan lying on the floor – eyes closed._

"_Ry?" I asked and kneeled beside him. His skin was cold and clammy and I started to panic._

"_Hey, Ry…c'mon, open your eyes." He didn't respond and panic overwhelmed me. Seeing your brother motionless lying on the tiled kitchen floor is horrible. I started to splash some cold water over his face in an attempt to wake him up. He began to stir. _

"_C'mon bro, come back. Open your eyes." He slowly managed to come back to consciousness. _

"_Hey Ry, are you okay?" I asked him, my hands cupping his hot cheeks. He definitely was running a fever._

"_hurts."Was the only word he answered and I was really worried. Ryan never gives you the helpless, but the tough boy._

"_Ryan, what hurts?"_

"_Head…back…legs…arms…everything." This sounded like a really serious flu to me. I didn't thought it might be something else. I didn't know anything else._

"_Okay, that's not good…can you get up."_

"'_m tired." Shit. Since when was Ryan helpless? He never was. I started to panic, because I don't know this kind of behaviour from Ryan. Ryan never showed any weakness._

"_Yeah, let's get you to bed and then you can sleep." I ensured him. He tried to get up, but his arms weren't able to support his weight. I had to nearly carry him. As soon as Ryan was in his bed, he fell asleep and he didn't get up again. The next morning I've been on my wits' end and I only saw one more solution._

"_Hey Ryan, time to get up."_

"_You never use my full name unless I've messed it up." He replied from under his blanket._

"_Well, somehow you did. You forgot to tell me that you don't feel well, far away from well."_

"_No idea what you're talking about." And with these words he turned around again._

"_Maybe, about that you passed out on me last night?"_

"_Yeah…but, everything's fine."_

"_No, nothing's fine. You're always tired, your nose starts bleeding out of nothing, your body is one bruise that I don't dare even touching you. So don't tell me you're fine. I don't buy it from you." I had said._

"_Okay, I'm not fine, but why in hell shell I get up?"_

"_You have an appointment."_

"_What? Where? When?"_

"_With a doctor." I was already prepared for his rage blackout._

"_What the fuck? If I needed…"_

"_No you wouldn't. Now get up, we're already late."Thus I dragged him to the hospital. There they had already the second bad news: they wanted to keep him over night. If glances could kill I would be dead by now. He didn't like the idea, but after some serious talk he hadn't fought the idea. Unfortunately I didn't have a lot of time, so I couldn't stay with him. I met him at home. He's been sitting on the couch in the dark with a mug of hot coffee in his hands._

"_Hey, what are you doing here?" I asked him._

"_I live here. Forgotten?" _

"_Yeah, but sitting there in the dark." No answer came. He just looked into the room, not responding. _

"_Ryan you're scaring me right now." I sat across from him. He didn't look at me. Okay he never looks at someone, but this had been different._

"_What's wrong?" I asked, only now I realised that he was shaking. I've been completely defeated._

"_I'm sick." _

"_Oh…okay…sorry man, but I mean that was to be expected or I mean…" I didn't understand where the problem was, until he had interrupted me._

"_I have Leukaemia." He said. His voice had been calm and he'd just said it straight forward. I hadn't been able to respond. I should have said something, anything. But I couldn't. _

_**K.**_

"The news is always hard to take." I tell him after he stopped talking. He feels visibly bad about his behaviour that he hadn't known how to reply, but I know the feeling. I hadn't known what to say when my Mom got sick either.

_**T.**_

I don't know why I've told her everything. I have the feeling as if she understands me. At least she really cares, because she's here and she's reluctant to go without having had a good word with Ryan. That's already more than I can say about other people, those who were supposed to care.

"How did it go from there?" She asks me.

"Chemotherapy and radiation and I don't know what all. A lot of medication and stuff." The first turn chemo had been the hardest for both of us – I guess. Ryan had played the tough guy – he still does. I don't know how he felt then. I only know him taking the situation bravely.

_I watched him disappear in the bathroom. After a while, when he still wasn't out, I decided to check on him. I knocked on the door._

"_Ryan everything okay man?" I started to worry. He was puking his guts up since days and I worried he might have collapsed again._

"_Yeah." He answered. There was a strange noise. I didn't know what it was and as we agreed to a don't-lock-the-bathroom-door-policy, because I was too afraid he might break down in there, I just got in and watched my little brother shaving his head with a razor._

"_What…Ryan…what are you doing." I was shocked. I wasn't prepared for that._

"_How does it look like?" He asked back._

"_I see, but why?" I didn't come to the conclusion on my own. It was too strange as if there could have been a reasonable explanation at first sight._

"_I know you shouldn't be very concerned about your appearance when you're puking twenty four seven, but honestly when you hair falls out and your head looks like patch work…this really looks crappy." He said. I couldn't even respond anything because I've been torn down by his humour._

_**K.**_

"Let me deal with that from now on." I say to Trey. He looks worn out and tired. This is much more he can bear. He doesn't have the strong facade his little brother has. It's too easy to witness what the truth for him is.

_**T.**_

"But first he needs to come with you." I answer. I can't understand why my brother went away from these people, who had offered him such a good life - a life in which nothing has been missing, not even love and comfort. Why did he turn his back on them?

_**K.**_

"You wrote something about the need of a donor?" I ask him. He nods. "Did you get tested?" I ask him on. Sometimes this news can be that overwhelming that you can't see the most obvious solution. It took a while until we came to it in my Mom's case.

_**T.**_

"I'm only his half-brother." I tell her. I don't want to tell her the whole story, but I own her this much. She came all the way from California to us. She left her peaceful life to help us – to burden herself with something like that. I at least owe her this part of the truth.

"But that doesn't matter. Any kind of relative can be suitable." She explains to me. I notice that she wants to help me keep up the tiny bit of hope I have left. I can't let her know that I already lost all hope – that losing hope was my reason for writing her son and asking for help in first place.

"That's what they told me in the hospital, but it didn't help Ryan." I answer her. The fact that I can't help my brother to get better is awful. Damn, I'm his brother. I'm supposed to make him better, I'm supposed to take care of him, and I'm supposed to protect him. I have done nothing of all of that. Now I'm sitting here to get rid of him, because the whole taking care thing is driving me nuts.

"So you aren't a match." I shake my head, because the little word 'no' doesn't slip my mouth easily – not in this fucking situation. I never had a problem with saying 'no', but now I have. My cell phone starts ringing, but I don't pay it any attention.

_**K.**_

"You should answer that, it might be important." I tell him. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable around me. I still ask myself why Ryan felt uncomfortable. Okay, the answer is obvious. I haven't been the best foster mom one can imagine. No, I'm pretty much sure I've been the worse exemplar you could get.

_**T.**_

"Yeah?" I take the call. "What?…shit…where are you? Yes…okay, stay there. I'll pick you up and don't worry. You'll have to face the consequences. I told you to stay here with your ass." I nearly scream into the phone. I should be glad that he's at least reasonable enough to phone me, before he's doing something even more stupid than he already did.

"Sorry… but I'll have to leave you for a minute. Do you mind to wait?" I ask her. It's probably very impolite to leave her like that, but I don't want to take her with me. She has caused this little outburst and I'm afraid it might get worse.

_**K.**_

"No, I'll wait. Was it Ryan?" I ask him back. I hope Ryan hasn't done anything stupid. He's well known for doing stupid things when he's despaired and confused – tow attributes matching well his current state.

"Thanks and yes, it was him." He answers me and then heads off. I'm alone: alone in this cold apartment. It hurts how the two of them have to live – under what circumstances they have to fight this battle. There's nothing comfortable and homey about this apartment, but maybe I'm just way too spoilt as if I could be satisfied with something like this.

_**T.**_

It's raining like a son of a bitch and my little brother is somewhere out here, without proper clothing. I can already tell where this is going to end. I arrive at the campus. He's sitting on a wall – in the middle of this fucking pouring rain and smokes a cigarette. I know that I'm not smart, but I don't need a fucking medical degree to know that my brother's behaviour is everything other then good for his condition. Rage is welling up in my guts. I stop the car sharply. I get out and walk straight to my brother, slapping the cigarette out of his hand.

"What the fuck are you thinking, huh? Do you think at all? We only want to help you. Do you know that you can ruin everything with such actions?" I scream into his face. No, I don't tell him that these actions might mean his death. I'm too afraid of saying these words. I'm too afraid that this might be the truth one day. I grab him by his arm and drag him up from his seating position. His breath smells after alcohol.

"You're so fucking stupid, do you know that?" I scream at him. He doesn't react. He of all people has to rely on alcohol in his frustration.

_**R.**_

I know my brother is right. There's nothing to counter. I know that he doesn't want to say that such behaviour might mean my death one day. He's too afraid of this topic, that's why he's walking around me on egg-shells. And I'm quite sure that his second thought is: just like Mom. I could kick my ass for that, but right now I'm tired of being the good example for everyone. In a fucking addition I'm freezing and I have a headache. I only want to go to bed, close my eyes and this for just being over – no matter how. I don't even care that my brother's grip is too tight. He pushes me into the car and then turns the heating on. He doesn't talk to me while he's driving. I don't dare ask him whether Kirsten's still there. I don't want to face her. He stops the car in a sharp way and violently slams the door shut when he got out of the car. I get out too. Only now I realise how cold I am and that I'm shivering. I have to clench my jaw to stop it from chattering against my teeth. It would be too embarrassing. We walk upstairs. I can't catch up on my brother's speed. He's waiting for me in front of the door. His eyes tell me that he doesn't know whether to kill me or protect me. I enter the apartment. Trey is close behind me. She's still there. Shit. I feel trapped and I can't say that I like this feeling a lot.

_**K.**_

I see both of the boys or better men – Ryan has lost every mark that could make him seem like a boy through his sickness – enter the apartment. I can tell that Ryan feels uncomfortable. I want to take him into a hug, but he wouldn't allow me to. His brother is angry, but it's not the violent kind of anger. It's the concerned anger that can be so much worse at times.

_**R.**_

"Go take a shower." My brother commands. Oh yeah, this time he's really angry and I'm not actually in a position in which I can allow my brother being angry at me.

"Can I first get some cloths?" I ask him, I don't want to step out naked, especially not in front of Kirsten.

"I'll bring you some dry ones." Oh no! I open my mouth to intervene. I won't allow him to…

"You gambled away any right of privacy my friend." He says and then pushes me into the direction of the bathroom.

_**K.**_

I watch his brother fetching some of his cloths and taking them into the bathroom.

"I'm sorry for that." He apologises.

"Nothing to be sorry for." I tell him. I watch him placing two thick blankets about the one which is already lying on the bed. Then he prepares a hot-water bottle and places under the blankets. He really seems to be worried about his brother. Ryan steps out of the bathroom, wearing a thick pullover and thick sweatpants.

_**R.**_

"To bed, now!" Trey commands me again and yes, I start to feel pissed. Not only had he gotten Kirsten in here, he even treats me like an invalid.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating?" I ask him when I see the blankets on the bed.

This doesn't suit Ryan. He never was like that…like…ungrateful and just an annoying person. I can't imagine him behaving like that only once when he'd been living with us.

"You don't want to discuss with me right now, or?" Trey asks me and I know it's time to pipe down. I climb into the bed. I didn't notice how sore my body feels. I feel the weight of the thick blankets fall onto my body and I feel the hot-water bottle in my back.

"Okay and now you're listening to what Mrs. Cohen has to suggest!" He commands. I think it's enough by now. I know that I messed it up. He can stop running riot on me.

"Trey, don't you think…"

"I'm already so damn close to kick your ass and I swear only one word more and I won't even care about how sick you are. Got it?" Oh shit. This sounds bad. I thought the angry part was my one. I decide it's better to pipe down now but hell I don't want to listen to this woman. When I left, I left on purpose. I don't want to have anything to do with her or her husband. I'm just tired of them.

_**K.**_

I can see his uneasiness and it's not easy for me. I can only sense how badly I must have hurt him. He never told me, and I doubt he ever will. I can feel the thick brick wall he had built up around himself. And of course I don't know what has happened between him and my husband. The only thing I know about this is that it must be something initial.

_**R.**_

I watch Trey walking towards the door.

"Where the fuck are you going?" I ask him. He can't just demand that I talk to this woman and then piss off. That's not fair. He at least has to stay and to realise that his idea was just ridiculous.

"I leave you two here to sort things out."

"What the fu…"

"Ryan, don't!" He hisses and then leaves.

_**K.**_

It's painful to realise how much he has changed. He'd once been such a calm and polite boy. Now he seems to be aggressive and way too hot tempered. I feel bad, because I know it was my fault, which made him change like that. We've let him down and forced him to get along on his own – once again he was left alone on his own, although we had been supposed to make things easier and better for him. We were his damn foster parents. We had the obligation to be better than his family, but we failed, just like them. We only made things worse and added some more scars on his soul which will never leave.


	6. 5 Alcohol and Anger

**A/N.: A big thanks to my beta ParisAmy and for all your nice reviews =) I hope now its easier for you to read and to know from whom's POV the story is told. If not let me know! I hope it's obvious enough for what the capital letters stand for;)

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_**5. Alcohol & Anger –**_ _Would you leave if I asked you to?_

_**K.**_

I sit on the couch in front of him. The atmosphere is strained. Nobody dares to say a word. He won't make the start, because he's much too angry and upset by all that has happened. I'm sure if I'd never seen the letter, I would have never gotten the opportunity to talk to him again. The question is: what to say to him? After all that happened a simple apology seems to be out of place. A simple apology could never fix what got damaged between us.

_**R.**_

I don't know what to do. I want to run, but I'm really afraid of Trey by now. I don't want to mess it up. Right now he's the only person I have left. I can't risk losing him too, but I can't talk to her. There's nothing to say. This here isn't her business anymore. It's mine. I don't want her to show up here and play the role of the Good Samaritan, if in fact she isn't. I don't need that. I can cope with all of this on my own.

_**K.**_

"Strange situation, after all that has happened." I make the start. He isn't the person who starts a conversation so it's on me to get it going. How shall I make him coming back with me and been taken care of by me – us? I've underestimated the degree of hurt that I've – we've caused. He had always been vulnerable, but we have never taken account of it. If I had, it'd never gotten that far. He's awfully skittish around me, a wrong word or a wrong movement could destroy all purpose for which I came here.

_**R.**_

What shall I answer her: yes, you're right? I can't. I'd like to hide under my blanket right now, but I'm too old for that kind of behaviour. I have to brace myself and just try to think of something else. I can't. Since she appeared on the doorstep my head is full of all these memories and I have the feeling as if these memories are even more hurtful than the real event had been.

_I've found her passed out on the couch – once again. It happened quite regular lately and when it happened either Sandy or I carried her to bed. This time it was my turn. I took her limp and numb body, and carefully carried her upstairs. How long this went on for? Already for months. Even Seth had started to notice, and if Seth starts to notice things like that you can imagine what it means. I lay her in her bed and tucked her in. Then I went downstairs and threw away the empty bottle. Watching her losing herself and everything that meant something to her was hard. Sandy started to burry himself deeper and deeper in his work. He was barely at home – barely there for Seth, who struggled coping with the fact that is family wasn't as perfect as it used to be and the first cracks began to crack open even deeper._

_I sat down at the kitchen table and started doing some homework. I had trouble concentrating on it, because I was always listening to what was going on upstairs. I knew soon Kirsten was in the need of someone to hold back her hair, while she was heaving over the toilet bowl. It would be me – as it always was lately. If I could bear it didn't matter at that point of time. The only thing that was important was not to let whole Newport get wind of what went on in Casa de Cohen. I managed to solve the first math problem – which was already a huge success as I started to fail one test after another then - when I heard the door upstairs slam shut. I hurried upstairs. She was a mess, but I held back her hair and started rubbing her back while her body was contracting violently under the retching. I didn't say anything. I already knew then that she didn't want to hear anything – especially not from me. When she was finished I handed her a face cloth, but she pushed my arm away._

"_Kirsten please, it'll make you feel a little more comfortable." I tried to persuade her, knowing deep down that it wouldn't work._

"_I don't need it." She said and then left the bathroom and then the bedroom. Her dress was a mess. The vomit was spread all over her cloths._

"_Kirsten, maybe you'd better get changed or do you want someone seeing you like that?" I asked her critically._

"_Why? What's wrong with me and my dress? Am I not good enough for you anymore, now after you've taken our money, our cloths, our education and food? Don't you think I know what kind of game you're involved in? But don't worry. I'm not going to allow you intruding our family any further." I ignored all those tiny, but painful strikes that this sentence caused inside of me, as I usually ignored it when she got one of her outbursts._

"_I didn't say that. I only think that-"_

"_I want to see my son, is anything wrong with that?" Despite her appearance? Yes. For example the fact that she was completely drunk and that Seth can't deal with his drunken Mom._

"_He's not there." I lied. I knew very well that Seth had buried himself in his room, trying to avoid all the chaos and drama that went on at his home and got absorbed in the world of his comic heroes. I would do everything to protect him from that. I couldn't. There was nothing I could do about this situation._

_She didn't care about what I said and stormed into her son's room. Seth was scared to his tracks when his Mom burst into his room. I saw it in his face and his eyes and his whole body language, which had turned defensive. He had never been defensive towards one of his parents before. The fact that he was now, was only one more sign that things were worse than worse and that we were desperately in the need of a solution._

"_Hey Seth, how's my son doing? I have the feeling as if we don't see each other a lot lately, not speaking about talking to each other." Her sweet and soft voice was false. We both knew that she could suffer from her rage blackouts any second. I saw him – his eyes – begging for my help. I had to intervene in this._

"_Uh…yeah…I'm quite busy with school lately." He said. He knew how to play this game. He had learned fast. He had to, because otherwise I'm sure he would've been broken under this situation. Well, I'm sure that this phase has left its scare and cracks._

"_Why? You're a smart boy…you don't need to study that much." His Mom sat down on his bed._

"_Actually, I have to, because I attend all the advanced curses this year and they give us a lot of work." He answered. If his Mom had been sober only for a few minutes she would've known about this, but she hadn't been sober for months and I've been at my wits' ends, not sure whether I was able to handle the situation any longer than that. I had the feeling as if I would break under this situation, but I couldn't allow it to happen. Seth needed me and I couldn't let him down. It was as if we grew even closer to each other under these circumstances – as if we really became brothers._

"_You're my son. You're smart you don't need to learn." His Mom said and I smelled where this was leading to – it was nothing good._

"_Kirsten, I think Seth really needs some peace for doing all his homework." I tried to persuade her._

"_Don't you dare telling me what my son needs. You've been the one only getting him into trouble. Stop talking about things you don't know anything about." She hissed and positioned herself in front of me. Her smell was disgusting._

"_Why don't you go down and have a coffee and then you can come back again, how about that?" I asked her. I could've carried her out of this room, but this would've been too humiliating even for these circumstances. Fact: Kirsten wasn't herself and an alcoholic, but that didn't give me the right to take the last bits of dignity she had left._

_I didn't saw her raising her hand, but I felt the slap sharp on my skin. It didn't hit me off guard, because I always was prepared for this reaction since months. She uses to slap me when she lacked of arguments or when she just had reached a degree of being drunk that made her flying into rage too easily._

"_Don't you dare talk to me like you used to your fucking alcoholic Mom, got it?" She hissed and then stormed out of the room. She didn't know – and still doesn't know – how I used to talk to my Mom. She knew that something wasn't right with her, but she wasn't ready to admit it. I caught Seth's apologetic glance. I only shrugged my shoulders. I couldn't let him know how hard this situation was for me. He needed me - his father wasn't there, his Mom neither. I had the feeling as if I owed it to him. At least it had been his initiative that I had at least one good year I would never forget, because it'll always be the best year in my life. I went back downstairs. Indeed, Kirsten stood in the kitchen holding a mug of coffee in her hand, but I could smell that it was more than just a simple coffee. I put my stuff together. I didn't want to be in the same room with her anymore, not when I myself was on the verge to damage something out of frustration._

"_You know, I'll tell Sandy about how you behave towards me. I don't think he'll like it." She said and I pretended as if I didn't hear her. Sandy was the other problem I – we, Seth and I – were faced with._

_I was faced with it quite soon. Sandy had managed to come home from work earlier than ten in the evening. He didn't even bother knocking at the pool house door first._

"_What the hell went on today?" He asked me._

"_Kirsten got drunk once again, I brought her to bed, she puked her guts out and then started to bother Seth with her drunkenness." I explained to him. I had stopped being polite in handling these issues. This was a serious problem, but nobody seemed to want to face it and I was reluctant to play the game of ignorance._

"_And that's enough reason for you to humiliate her?" _

"_I didn't humiliate her. She did so herself. If I'd done so, I probably would've carried her out of Seth's room." I answered, hoping he'd understand what humiliation in reality meant._

"_Stop talking like that to me. I have enough trouble in my job. I don't have time to take care of this kind of teenage attitude." He yelled at me. He used to yell at me when he came home from work. Everybody needed to let off of steam. Every time it was me, something I didn't realise back then, but when I left it all behind._

"_Sandy, Kirsten has a serious problem and I'm not going to sit down and watch how this is ruining everything." I stayed calm. Again I tried to explain to him what alcoholism meant. It's the problem if people never really have lived through this kind of phase before: it seems to be surreal to them. They always think this would never happen to them, but eventually it did and then they have no idea how to cope with it._

"_You're still talking about my wife and I'm not going to allow you to compare her with your mother." I had to brace myself for not rolling my eyes. I was fed up with these kinds of statements. It was always the same old shit._

"_I'm not comparing, but I'm worried. Hell Sandy, you can't close your eyes and pretend as if nothing goes on. Don't you even realise how this affects Seth? He's hurting under this situation. He can't handle his Mom being like this. He needs you and your support right now, but you're never there and you never face the truth." I never thought that I was able to control my temper that hard, but I was. Otherwise I would've yelled back into Sandy's face. Control is something valuable in such situations. Unfortunately this sentence had been the second slap of the day. Yes, Sandy used to have server anger and aggression issues and I was always glad that Seth never had been around – despite the one time, the last time._

"_You have two options: either you stop behaving like that, or you can pack your bags and leave. I didn't bring you here, so that you can insult us. Got it?" I should've packed my bags. But what would've happened to Seth? Again I turned out to be the punching bag for the rest of the family, and again I'd been too loyal to be able to leave them behind._

_**K.**_

"Ryan, are you still with me?" I ask him. I talked to him what seems like hours, but he doesn't show any kind of response, not to mention a reaction.

"Would you leave if I'd asked you to please?"


	7. 6 Pride

**A/N.: **Thanks to my Beta ParisAmy and of course foe all the nice reviews!

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_**6. Pride**__ – where there's no dignity, pride isn't to be mentioned _

_**K.**_

"No." I say and try to sound determined. I see the hurt in his face and I wish for nothing else than being able to take him into my arms. I can't. I can't take him into my arms, because it took me too long to actually find him, but I can't let him go, because it took me too long to see him again. I regret for having let it slide. It should've been my first and only concern to talk to him and sort out what has happened. I should have gone searching for him in an instant. It feels like a lie being here now. I'm lying to him and to myself. I thought I could just ask and he'd follow me. He won't do so. Why would he? I've hurt him – we have.

_**R.**_

"Kirsten, I appreciate you being here and showing your concern, but we should be honest to ourselves: this won't work and I'm no fan of being a charity project." I let her know. I don't want her to waste any more energy in this. I won't come with her – not as long as I'm lucid enough to make my decisions. This would lead to wrong signs. Signs standing for something I'm not willing to give now: forgiveness.

_**K.**_

"Ryan, you're no charity project. I only think, you might need some help and…I want to be the one who helps you in this. After…all what you've done for us…I have to do this." I try to express my gratefulness, hoping he might fall for this. I'm despaired. Ryan had shut down from the very second I entered this apartment, and as much I can understand him, I'm still hurt by his behaviour. If I had only expressed only earlier what he means to me, things would be so much easier between us.

_**R.**_

"You've done enough for me. You gave me a lot in this one year…so I think we're even." I don't want to be the instrument for relieving the bad conscience. I'm just fed up with being an instrument. I don't want to be an instrument anymore. I won't let her manipulate me for any of this.

_**K.**_

"Is it because of what happened between you and Sandy?" I ask him directly. Maybe he'll tell me what has happened between the two of them. Okay, I'm talking to Ryan. He'd never talk bad about Sandy. He's too loyal. That's why he ran instead of waiting and ratting on him.

_**R.**_

"There's nothing between Sandy and me. It was a rough time for all of us and we have all been on the edge with our nerves." I try to make her leaving this topic. This is the last thing I want to get reminded of. I tried to make a clear cut and now? She's back and ripping open all those scars. Great.

_**K.**_

I give up on this topic. It's useless digging any deeper. He won't tell me what has happened and I doubt that I can get him home without that knowledge.

"Isn't there anything that can persuade you from coming with me?" I ask him. I'm not ready for giving up on him now. I must find a solution. I have one, but I'm not sure whether this solution could persuade him. It would rather thread him to some kind of action, but it would for sure be effective.

_**R.**_

"I left, because I had to. If I'd gotten the feeling to come back, I would have come back." I answer her. I feel bad talking like that to her. I never thought I'd do so one day, but I have no other choice. I want to get rid of her, before I do something I'll regret later. Also I can't understand why she isn't leaving. I asked her to, making clear that I won't agree to any of her suggestions.

_**K.**_

His voice his cold and steely and doesn't match to the boy my husband had brought home one day. He reminds me of myself: the ice queen. I never thought it was possible witnessing him being that cold. He won't dazzle me with his ice cold façade. He's still the same. He took his brother with him to keep him away from more trouble. I don't see hatred, but disappointment. I feel as if I betrayed him for so long. I promised him a peaceful life, but I hadn't been able to keep this promise.

"Okay, I'll leave you alone, but I haven't given up on you yet, and I'm used to get what I want." I tell him. I won't make it easy for him. I'll get him home and I'll sort everything out and I'll find out what had happened.

_**R.**_

"We're not in Newport." I answer. I don't fall for her declaration of war. If she used to get what she wants, she'll learn how it feels is she won't get it. I'm not one of her toys.

_**K.**_

"But I'm also not the weak alcoholic anymore." I counter. He won't get me down. I can't allow him to win this battle, because he doesn't know what we're fighting about. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's hurt and that's obvious, but this is making him blind: unable to see what this is about, unable to see that he's in the need of this help, unable to see that he already gave up the fight against the disease.

_**R.**_

I can't reply to that. She doesn't know what she's talking about. She wants to take the straying puppy to the vet to relieve her conscience by doing a good deed, but I won't be that puppy. Not this time. She has enough reason for having a bad conscience, because Seth will never forget what she has done to him, and he won't forget how his own father hid instead of facing the battle.

_**K.**_

"Okay, I'll leave you then. Maybe you'll think about what I've said. You'd do a big favour to Seth if you did." I tell him and then I leave. I hope that 'Seth' had helped to move something. On the other hand I'm not sure whether there is anything that can cause any kind of movement in the inner part of this ice block. This time the question is: how cruel can I be to get what I want? I don't know and I'm afraid of myself, while I'm thinking about measures that could persuade Ryan. I shouldn't be too surprised by that. I'm my father's daughter. Of course I have a lot of cruel ideas. The only question is whether I'm also able to implement them.

_**R.**_

I'm waiting in front of the counter for my coffee. Actually I'm not allowed to drink too much coffee, but Kirsten's visit had shaken me somehow. I couldn't fall asleep, therefore my first lecture this morning was hell and I decided that I needed a coffee otherwise I won't make it through the other lectures of the day. I take the cup the waitress hands me and then step out into the coldness of Boston. I can't imagine that Seth would like it here. It's way too cold. I head to the lecture theatre.

"Ryan Atwood." A deep male voice behind me calls. I had thought I would never hear this voice again. I turn back to face the devil of Newport. This man hasn't changed at all.

_**C.**_

When he turns towards me I'm faced with ice cold eyes. I've never seen this expression in his eyes before, not even towards me. Indeed he has changed, that's obvious. That he's sick is obvious too. After my daughter reported from her meeting with him, I didn't want to believe that she was talking about him. The described behaviour hadn't matched the boy who came to my office one day and gave up everything to safe my daughter. Of course there's still one mystery to be solved: what happened between this boy and Sanford that he didn't even try to keep him from what he did?

_**R.**_

"Mr. Nichol what do you want?" I ask this man. If I've learned one thing in Newport then it was that it was never good when this man appeared on your threshold.

_**C.**_

"I'd like to talk." I answer him. He's suspicious about my visit and I can't take him amiss. We have a rocky road lying behind us. Indeed I never really thought that I would one day stay in front of him, asking him whether he'd liked to talk to me.

_**R.**_

"Yeah, but sorry, my lecture starts in about ten minutes." I answer and then turn around again. I'm not in the mood for a verbal fight with this man. I have more important things to concentrate on.

_**C.**_

"And afterwards?" I ask him. I can't give up now. It had taken too long for my daughter to ask me for help. I have to show her that she can rely on me.

_**R.**_

"Listen Mr. Nichol, I have no idea what you want and I don't want to know it. We're even. You got what you wanted, so please do me the favour and stop bothering me." I answer and then walk off. I don't have the nerves to talk to this guy.

**C.**

I'm flustered. I didn't expect the boy changing like that. He is ice cold, no question whether something was wrong with his…still-foster-family, or whether someone needed his help. He didn't show the slightest concern for anyone. He got rid of me as if I was nobody. Well, why should I be someone for him? I never gave him the chance that what he did had changed my opinion about him. I didn't think I needed to let him know, as I was sure I'd never see him again. I have to come up with a plan: a plan my daughter wouldn't kill me for. Money? This boy can't be bribed. I should try to play on a field I've never played on before. I have to play on a field the boy is powerless against. On each other field he'll win over me.

_**R.**_

Statistics. I'm tired and I'm definitely in the need for another coffee. Not good, but otherwise I won't survive this day. I really need to come up with a new plan. I doubt I can make it through this semester like that. Well I'm certain I can make it through this semester, but I'll definitely need a plan for the next one. Maybe I should think about part time studies…

"I don't think that coffee is good for you." Why is this man still here? Doesn't he have to be somewhere? I just pretend as if he wasn't there: ignoring him as he ignored me for so long.

"Ryan, wait." He tries to make me stop and grabs my arm, at least carefully enough that I don't have to worry about a bruise. This fact makes me wonder what this man knows about me and what Kirsten might have told him.

"It's more milk than anything else." I answer the man. I don't know why I'm telling him anyways, added to that I can't be like this man: insulting and hurtful no matter the costs. He doesn't do me any harm, besides insulting me, but this probably is the problem with so called workaholics, they don't notice what's happening in the world around them.

_**C.**_

"Okay Ryan, you know I'm not a man of sentimental talk, but fact is you mean a lot to my daughter and my grandson. You've saved her and the whole family, while Sanford… somehow had no clue. You stand to your word…after all what you've done for this family, so see it as our turn to help you." Maybe he falls for this. I'm sure my daughter used to persuade him like that. She used to be very careful with him. I'll shoot me if he doesn't. I don't like to perform a soul striptease in front of this still teen.

"First of all: I didn't expect a reward. Second of all: they gave me one and a half year, so see it as my reward to you." He answers plainly and passes me. It is evident that he doesn't want to conduct this conversation.

"Alright, what do you want?" I ask him. I wasn't prepared for meeting a wall of thick ice.

"Just to be left alone. I told Kirsten that I had my reasons for leaving." He states coldly and leaves the coffee shop. I feel like a total idiot. I didn't honestly think he'd fall for what I said, did I? A boy like he is needs to be treated with rougher measures. I once again got blinded by some kind of impression someone tried to persuade me of. I still won't give up. I have one ace upon my sleeve.

_**R.**_

I enter the empty apartment. I decided to leave after statistics. I'm just too tired for more lectures, and anyway, I should stay home. I'd be better, if I did. It's just so fucking boring and not being able to do anything useful is the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I haven't seen my brother since last night. I switch on the lights and see a familiar form sitting on the couch. In an instant anger starts boiling in the pit of my stomach.

"You committed trespass, do you know that?" This man starts to be annoying – not that he has ever been different. And anyway: what's all this about? I can't seem to get it. First they pretend to love you, then they insult you, afterwards they ignore you and now they want you back. I really don't get the point of the hassle.

_**C.**_

"Well, might be, but I don't think that this will be of importance after I talked to you." I'm fed up with being the nice old man. It's obvious that this doesn't work with the boy. He needs a rougher hand that guides him back onto the right track.

_**R.**_

I look at the older man in front of me. I don't like this cruel expression in his face. It tells me that he's capable of doing everything. As I lived with the Cohen's he nearly did everything to get rid of me. I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and take a long sip. I'm content that after this man came up with what he has on his mind, I'll be glad when I'm still standing.

"Okay, my daughter wants to talk to you, apologize for what has happened and stuff and she wants to help you: the reason is obvious. Now she tried to convince you to come back and listen to her, and she failed. I tried it twice this time, and I think you know that I don't like to not get what I want on my first demand. I have to admit, you're a tough nut to crack, but I'm over the edge with my patience. So, I'll give you two options: either you come with us voluntarily and as a free man; or I'll have to call my lawyers and let the court declare you as temporally incapacitated, because right now you're a danger for yourself, and my daughter and her husband never gave up their guardianship for you." My jaw drops and I have to sit down. He hadn't said he'd let the court incapacitate me, right? This… It strikes me like lightning that suddenly I probably have no other options left if I want to remain being a human being in full capacity of his will.

_**C.**_

"You know, with this in your record you can forget your career." I'm aware of me being evil and if my daughter was in the same room with us, she would have sheltered the boy under her protecting hand, but I think this is the only language he understands right now.

_**R.**_

"Still the cruel businessman." I state as if he didn't shock me. Nevertheless he doesn't leave me a lot of space for thinking.

"At least you can remember me. So, as this is clear by now, I want you to have packed your bags and be waiting for us at seven tomorrow morning and…" Stop! I haven't said anything. I just can't leave like that. I have too many things that need to be done, too many duties I can't leave alone, too much to take care of. He can't just decide to take me back, as if I was a five years old kid.

"I can't. My studies won't finish themselves and I'm not going…"

_**C.**_

"To risk the scholarship, I know. But don't worry. I've already taken care of that. As I've said: tomorrow morning seven o'clock and be a little nicer towards my daughter. She can't bear you being like that." I answer him and then leave him alone. I think this time I've made my point clear and I doubt he'll risk being incapacitated. His pride won't allow him that.


	8. 7 I don't want to go with you

**A/N.:** Sorry for this very late update. I hope you still like to read this story. Thanks to my beta ParisAmy

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_**7. Know –**__ I don't want to go with you, but I can't fight a war_

_**K.**_

I can't believe that my Dad has managed to persuade Ryan from coming with us. I didn't count on that. Well, I didn't even count on him trying that hard to persuade him.

"You still didn't tell me how you managed to persuade him." I say to my Dad. I'm a little afraid of knowing. Indeed my Dad has changed, but when he wants to reach an aim, he's still the same: cold and uncompromising. For business this is a quite good attitude, but family issues are hardly solved like that.

"Are you sure you want to know?" He asks me and I'm quite sure that he didn't proceed with a lot of sensitivity.

"Dad?" Now I need to know. I must be prepared for Ryan's moods, which by the war start to be annoying. He has never been resentful and that he is now makes me angry. He never let anyone make him change his attitudes, but this time he allowed us to change his entire personality.

"Well, I…you noticed that it's hard to persuade a boy like Ryan. He's…too proud and…" My father stammers. At least he has some glimpse of a bad conscience.

"Don't tell me you've threatened him with being declared as incapacitated by the courts." I say. We've been talking about it, but I disapproved with this idea. I should be glad that my father helped me, but with all forces? On the other hand, Ryan isn't the Ryan I once knew. The usual stuff didn't work and …we've been practically forced to try new measures, because he let us no other choice. No, I don't approve with what he'd done, but I'm glad I can take Ryan back with me, although there will be waters to be soothed.

We reach the apartment. I knock on the door.

"Did you tell him when we'll pick him up?" I ask my father, who nods in reassurance.

"I did." He answers, but nothing happens. The door doesn't open. I knock once again.

"Ryan?" I call. Maybe he's in the bathroom and doesn't hear the knocks. There's still nothing. I start to worry…better: I start to panic. My father lays and assuring hand on my arm. I knock once again, but I don't hear anything. Maybe he ran. This could be possible. He never had the best relationship to my Dad, so why should he listen to him now? Maybe something happened. This could be possible too. Although he didn't look as alarming as I had feared he might do, he's still sick – dangerously. I look at my father. He shrugs his shoulders.

"I opened this door yesterday. It shouldn't be a problem doing it again tonight." He says and then with some pressure is able to open the door with a crack. The lights are switched off and it's cold inside of the apartment. I warp my arms around myself when I walk around to find Ryan. I switch on a small lamp on the table. A warm light floods the room and I can make out a form underneath a pile of blankets. Relief streams through my body. He didn't run and nothing happened to him. I walk over to him and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey Ryan, time to get up." I don't get a reaction. He's too deep asleep. He must be awfully tired. My Mom had been tired – awfully tired – when she became sick and had to undergo all these treatments. I can't be angry with him for oversleeping.

"Ryan, wake up." I say a little louder, shaking him as gently as I can, so not to hurt him.

"Mmmm" He answers me and I watch how is eyes start to open slowly. They are not as bright as they used to be. It seems as if some kind of obscure veil conceals them.

"Sorry, but we need to hurry a little." I tell him.

"Kirsten?" He looks at me confused.

_**R.**_

What's Kirsten doing here? Why's she…? Oh fuck. I should have known that the worst nightmare is always left for reality and not dream-land.

_**K.**_

"Whom did you expect?" I ask him, realising too late that this might have been the wrong question.

_**R.**_

"Whom else should I expect?" What the hell is she doing in my place? She still hasn't learnt about privacy? It's not like I gave her the keys to the apartment, which means I don't want her appearing in here just out of the nothing.

_**K.**_

"Ryan, I was worried. I've been knocking and calling your name several times and when I didn't get any answer I…just wanted to check you were alright." I justify my action. I don't want him to be upset. He might decide differently again and won't follow us home.

_**R.**_

"Yeah, sure." I only answer. I'm still too tired as if I wanted to set up a fight. Why did I agree? I should have made my point clearer and stood…well, if I hadn't agreed I wouldn't have any own point. I hate to be trapped in a catch twenty-two. It makes me feel helpless and …I just can't stand this feeling. It's annoying.

_**K.**_

"Do you need any help?" I ask him. I have no clue of how bad his condition already is. He won't let me know. I can only guess, but even that's hard. The feeling that he's shielding his illness and his real condition from me creeps over me with determination.

_**R.**_

"No, thanks." I might be sick, but I'm not an invalid yet. Anyway, it's not like I'm not used to deal with the serious stuff on my own. Fact: you can have fun with everyone, but when things become serious you're on your own. That's the golden rule of life and I'll never ever again neglect it. I don't need to make my experiences twice. In the fear of Mr. Nichol's crucial plans I slowly crawl out of bed. My joints are aching awfully and a wave of dizziness hits me, while the feeling vanishes from my legs. No, not again and not now. I feel her hand steadying me. I would pull away from her hand, but right now I can't. I feel how my knees start to feel like gum. I better sit back down again.

_**K.**_

"This was a little too fast, huh?" I ask him, hiding that I start to get concerned, but I just can't appear on his doorsteps after two years and play the hovering mother. Too many events lie between us for me to play his mother again. He looks awfully pale and I wonder when his last treatment has been. I came by two days ago, he'd been in Uni yesterday…something is wrong about the situation. Something just doesn't fit. An awkwardness assaults me, creeping me out a little bit.

I look around, while I'm waiting for him. He hasn't packed yet. There's no bag in any corner and this room isn't huge enough as if I couldn't spot everything on first sight.

"Did you pack a bag?" I ask him when he comes out of the bathroom. I don't want to hurry him, but we have to catch the plane.

"There's not a lot to pack." He says and grabs a duffle bag that lay under a table, which I thought of as some kind of clothes. He goes to one of the closets and puts some cloths into the bag. That's it. He doesn't possess a lot and all he had we took away from him again. I can't blame him for having left everything behind, as he seems so determined of making a clear cut.

_**R.**_

I take a deep breath. I don't want to fly into rage in front of Kirsten. I'm just too tired to fight or to fly into rage. Maybe I should start to declare my defeat. I don't have to declare it completely, just one by one. It definitely would make things easier between all of us, and I wouldn't have to fight my temper. On the other hand I'm not ready for forgiveness yet and declaring my defeat would for sure send out this message.

"Do you need help?" Mr. Nichols asks me in his usual harsh voice.

"No thanks." I answer him. It's not like I want to have any of their help. I want to be left alone. No, not alone. I just don't want them around. I…can't need them now. It'll be too hard to deal with them as well – with Sandy on top of all that. From all of them I never thought it'll be him I'm afraid of seeing again.

"Don't you want to eat anything before we leave? You shouldn't go without anything in your stomach." How nice. Now Kirsten starts patronizing me as if I was still a kid – her kid. This makes it even harder to brace myself.

"Not hungry." I answer. Why is she concerned? This isn't her business. Out of some…reason she wants to help me, but she doesn't have to play concerned mother for me. I grew up without one and I lived long enough without one that I don't need it now.

_**K.**_

The whole way to the airport and then onto the plane is silent. I sometimes talk to my Dad about something to forget the tension between me and Ryan. I must have been unnaturally naive when I thought we could get Ryan back just like that. Of course for him it must have been awful and…if I only knew what had happened between him and my husband. But neither of them would talk to me, and not even my son Seth spills the beans, although he's in the know – maybe had witnessed it? I can't even tell that. When Ryan takes his seat in the plane I can see that he's shivering. I ask the stewardess for a throw. After she handed me one, I pass it over to Ryan.

_**R.**_

"Don't need it." I answer when Kirsten holds out her hand with a throw. Sure, I'm freezing, but this won't get better if I used this thin thing.

_**K.**_

"You're shivering." I only answer, letting him know that his tough-guy-attitude won't lead to anything regarding my concerns. I receive shrugging shoulders as a response. It's a frustrating situation we're caught in. Nobody can give way. I, as the oldest and more experienced one, should do so, but if I did it meant letting Ryan go for ever.

I watch Ryan leaning his head against the window, turning his head away from me. It's obvious to me that my father had done the only thing which was able to force Ryan back with us. Otherwise he'd never agreed to join us. He's too hurt. I watch him closely. I want to see through him, seeing how he really feels. He's still shivering and his skin is pale. You can see the net of blue veins through it – like marble. There's still something of the strong boy left in his appearance – the boy who entered my life in a sudden and left it like that again. I never had a hand in it, neither when he joined our family, nor when he left it again. I feel the urge to take him into my arms, telling him that everything was going to be okay. I have to resist this urge. I can't satisfy my motherly feelings yet. If I ever can? I hope so, but I'm not sure about that. Suddenly he struggles from his slummed position upright and starts to open his jacket.

"Everything alright?" I ask him suspicious. Nothing is right. I sense it, although I can't see it. There are so many things I can only sense. I sense that he's hurt, although he hadn't told me. I sense that it'll be a long and rocky way until he eventually will be able to forgive me, although he never upbraided me. I can sense that what happened between him and my husband must have been awfully and traumatic, but he'd never told me – not yet.

_**R.**_

"Yeah." I answer. I don't want her hovering over me. I already have no clue how I'll survive the time together with her. This was a bad idea. I should have resisted. This won't end up in a good way, because she won't get what she wants. I know that because right now I'm in no condition to give her what she wants – not even if I wanted to, but I don't want to anyway, no matter of my condition or anything. I only want to be left alone. I hate it if people are around while I don't feel well and right now I'm not feeling well at all. Did they have heating in a plane? Suddenly I feel awfully hot and sticky. I have trouble breathing. My chest starts to get tighter. I try to take deep breathes, but not to let Kirsten notice. I can't cope with her right now. Being on the way back with her is already more than I can take. It never had been different. I always had been the one who had to exceed my borderline. It's not like anyone cared whether I was capable of it. It was expected. I need to get rid of the heat in my body wherever it's coming from.

_**K.**_

I see his cheeks blushing. This is not a good sign. What if…he's getting sick! He's been out in the rain for too long and I'm quite sure that his immune system is everything else than strong.

"Are you having a fever?" I ask him. I get up from my seat. I want…I have to check whether my suspicion is right. I already sense that it is. I want to feel his forehead, but he pulls away from me.

"I'm fine." He snaps at me. I'm taken aback a little. This can't be the person who had joined my family. This must be someone else. I have to shake it off. I can't retreat from him. I would lose the last few chances I have if I did.

"Ryan, I told you to be a little nicer to my daughter. She only wants to check whether you're alright and you should be thankful, because as far as I know there is no one else caring for doing so." I bite my lip. I don't think that what my father said will improve the situation. Thankful. He couldn't have chosen a word that was more out of place. I shoot angry glances at him, hoping he realises that what he had said, was everything else than appropriate. I watch how Ryan struggles out of his seat.

_**R.**_

I don't have to listen to this, do I? I mean, I didn't ask them to do this for me. I…I'm close to a rage blackout, only this might be a little unfavourable. They would declare me immediately to some kind of terrorist. The worst: I can't even escape the situation, because I'm trapped in a plane. Great. Really great. That's exactly what I need. I feel how my legs turn into gum again. Shit. This is really not the right moment for that. I lean myself against the seat. I don't want to give them a preview of how shitty I might feel some days. They don't need to witness. I don't want them to. I should try to keep the scope of insight low. I sit down again. I doubt that my legs can carry me any second longer. I'm not sitting for a second and I have a hand fumbling around on my forehead. I let out a growl. I don't know how else to express a direct and clear 'no'. Usually it should be an easy task, but I'm so tired that I don't want to risk beginning an unnecessary fight.

_**K.**_

"You're definitely running a fever." I tell him. The heat radiating from his forehead is alarming, but what did I expect? He was out in the cold rain. He only shrugs his shoulders. He doesn't seem to care about his condition way too much. He's neglecting himself, but he's only a child. He can't handle this on his own. Everybody would need someone, and he hadn't had someone for seven months. With all respect towards his brother, but this man doesn't seem to be the most reliable person when you're not up to handling all your business on your own. I feel the urge to hover over him, but after his previous reaction, I don't dare doing so. I leave him alone. I don't want to upset him any more than necessary. He'll need his energy for fighting this battle. He shouldn't have to fight others too; but he has to: Seth, my husband and me, maybe my father too. In a sudden the whole idea seems to be ridiculous. Am I really doing something good to him?

When we exit the plane I can see how Ryan struggles to remain on his feet. He's miserable, but he's declining every help or support we're offering him. I leave him. I don't want to upset him. When we're in the hall of the airport, waiting for I cab I realise that we've lost Ryan. He couldn't keep up with our pace. He looks exhausted and his skin is drained out of all colours. He's staggering. I try to reach him. I watch his knees buckle. My father tries to catch hold of the boy before he falls onto the ground, but he's too late. With a dumb thud Ryan collapses and I can't do anything, couldn't even prevent this from happening.


	9. 8 Bad conscience

**A/N.:** Thanks to my Beta ParisAmy and to all those who read this story =)

* * *

_**8. Bad Conscience –**__ It fights for and against both parties of the battle_

_**R.**_

I try to open my eyes. They're heavier than they used to be. I feel as if I'm wrapped into the obscure veil of fog. Everything feels heavy and limp – nearly numb. The stinging smell of disinfection reaches my nose. Oh no. I now open my eyes completely. I have to blink several times to adjust my eyes to the bright lights hanging above me. Fact. Hospital. Shit. I look around only to realise that they pierced a needle through the vein on my hand. Nice. That's exactly the proof that Kirsten and Mr. Nichole need to declare me as invalid and to make me pending on them. Great. It can't get any worse.

"Mr. Atwood, you're finally awake. How do you feel?" A man asks – clothed in white. A doctor: lying and pretending is useless now.

"Strange." Is all I mutter. I don't like doctors and I don't like hospitals. I feel constantly uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well that's the effect of the medication. Don't worry about that. But what you should worry about…

_**K.**_

I'm sitting in the waiting room. I'm not his mother, thus nobody tells me anything. Though, we never gave up our guardianship, but he's nineteen now. We're nobody, but some people who are driven by some kind of strange instinct that let them care about a strange boy. I watch the doctor coming out of his room, I jump up. But why? He won't tell me anything and I doubt that Ryan will talk to me. I need to do something. I walk towards the door. Shall I go? I turn back, only to see my father nodding reassuringly into my direction. I take a deep and calming breath and then knock carefully on the door. I don't want to disturb him. I don't get a response. I turn around. He doesn't want to see anyone. I give up. I look at my father whose face tells me: go in there, now! I slowly open the door and peak inside. He's lying curled together on his side, and his face tells me he's doing some heavy brooding.

"Hey." I say and then sat a foot into the room. He doesn't look up to me, doesn't react.

"How are you feeling?" I ask him when I reach his bed side.

"I'm in a hospital, so properly not that good." He asks me obviously irritated by my question.

"What did the doctor say?" I ask him. I start to lose my patience and my understanding for his behaviour. I start to be fed up with it and I know if he doesn't start to change it, I'll blow my top.

I don't receive a response, not even any kind of physical movement which could tell me that he had actually listened to my question. He's doing his best to ignore me.

"Okay, you don't want to talk to me. I leave you alone then." I say and then leave. What else shall I do? I don't like the idea of not knowing what's wrong with the boy. I don't like the feeling that's creeping up my spine, embracing my heart – making it heavy. I walk out, and the doctor who had been in Ryan's room a few minutes ago, passes by. I take the risk: the risk of getting to hear that I'm nobody and have no right to know how the boy – who once has been my son and still is – is.

"Uh…doctor…ex…excuse me…may I ask you something?" I start. The doctor turns around and looks at me. His face is friendly, not the stern and stressed one.

"Yes Miss…"

"Cohen."

"Okay, Miss Cohen, how can I help you?"

"I know that you probably aren't allowed to tell me anything, but…can you tell me how Ryan really is?" I ask him, my heart pounding up to me throat.

"Unfortunately I'm really not allowed to tell you anything." I won't give up. Not this time. I've given up once: I've given up my job, myself and worst of all I've given up my family, but this won't happen this time.

"But I've been his foster mother…I…should have a right to get to know something." I explain him. I can't believe that I'm nothing but a blank line for those people.

"I'm sorry Miss, but he's over eighteen now, I wouldn't b-"Oh no.

"Listen to me, the boy…is not able of taking care of himself…and there's nobody else taking care of him than us: there are no parents and his brother left. I have to help him and push him through to this, but this boy is stubborn like hell and won't talk to me. So I beg you to tell me what's wrong with my son, so I can help him. I know legally I'm nothing but a spare blank on a form, but emotionally I'm more than that. I'm his mother." I let out all my emotions, hoping that I'm able to convince this man. He looks proving at me. He sighs.

"Well, you're right…this is one of my concerns." He says finally.

"What…? I mean what is your concern?"

"Mr. Atwood can't take care of himself. He doesn't seem to accept the fact that he's seriously sick and doesn't seem to care about that." I knew it.

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

"Mr. Atwood was supposed to stay in hospital for at least a week because of a chest infection. He left the hospital after one day. Now he's back again and in my opinion he doesn't seem to be too worried about that." I can only nod about that. I don't know what to say, but what I know for sure is that it's going to be a long and rough time to make him accept his illness. I should have seen this problem coming.

"But…there's another problem we're concerned with." He says and I'm immediately scared. His face tells me that this is nothing good. There's something very serious coming up to me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The doctor in Boston…chose a wrong treatment…or let me express it differently: he chose a -for this case - not proper treatment." My jaw drops. I can't breathe. I can't cope with this. He can't cope with this.

"But…how can they choose the wrong treatment?" I ask him. I can't believe that someone who has such a responsibility can make such a huge mistake.

"I can't tell you. I only know that your son wasn't treated properly for seven months and the consequences might be serious and added to that the fact that…he didn't…take the medication that he was prescribed …I'm not sure where this is going to end up." The doctor says and I feel a knot in my guts. I can't believe that. Ryan used to be the most responsible person in the world. He had taken care of a whole family, including an alcoholic mother and an overtaxed father. I can't believe that he wasn't able to take care of himself. No, he's able of that. He just doesn't give a shit about himself. That's it. He doesn't care what's happening to him, because he doesn't want to burden someone, not even his brother – his own family. Rage is boiling in the pit of my stomach. He's an intelligent boy. He's supposed to be able to take care of himself.

"I…I can't…I don't know what to say."

"I can't help you there, but if you're really as concerned - as you seem to be - you have to make him accept his illness and have to take care of that he's following the treatment, otherwise I don't see any chance for him to win this fight." Clear words.

"I'll do my best. Thank you doctor." I reply. I have to do something. I storm towards his room and enter it.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I scream at him. I don't care about my language. I have to adopt his harsh attitude, because there's no other way to make him understand what this is about: that this is about his life.

"What are you talking about? And what the fuck are you thinking when you scream at me like this?" He looks confused. That's good, because it means I caught him off guard.

"You should've been in hospital. Instead you're walking around in pouring rain and attending your lectures." I explain him what I heard few seconds ago. There's no reason for me staying calm. He has behaved like a rude little brat towards me, so I don't have any obligation to be nice to him anymore. I can understand that he's hurt, but he doesn't talk to me and that's the worst thing. Blaming you and don't telling you what for, is something I'm not going to tolerate.

_**R.**_

"What…why? Why did you talk to the doctor? You don't have any right to!" I scream back at her. I'm upset. This was supposed to remain private. I'm not her foster son anymore. I'm just the boy who swept up her vomit, nothing - nobody else.

"Because you're a danger to yourself and unable to take care of yourself. That's why I talked to the doctor." She throws into my face and I'm not sure whether I should take this as real concern.

"Now you start to even humiliate me? Isn't it enough that your father already forced me to come with you? Don't I have any say or free will in this?" I bark into her face. It's not like anyone had cared since I've gone. Now? They're only afraid of the bad conscience they might suffer from when I'm finally dead. They don't care about me, but only themselves.

"Stop it! I know that things were difficult and that you probably had some very good reason for leaving, but you at least owe an explanation to me!"

"I owe you nothing!"

"No? Do you know what it felt like when I came home, thinking of being able to finally embracing my family, and finding out that one member is missing? Do you know how awful it is to feel that you're the reason for one of your sons leaving you? Do you know how hard it is to stand in front of him and being shot by all his insults and blames, without any explanation? Do you know how hard it is for me being a wife to Sandy and a mother to you, without knowing what happened between the two of you?" She asks me. It's too much for me: too many words streaming into my head; too many words I have to think about; too many questions I have to process in my head before I can answer them properly.

"You know what? At some point what you did became selfish and did you know when? At that moment in which I came to you, seeking the conversation. Your life is only turning around yourself, or why didn't you tell anyone? Did you even think about what it did to Seth when he accidentally found out that his best friend is sick, or what it may have done to him to find out that his best friend is dead without having known why, although he had been in contact with you?" She screams into my face, without knowing what she's actually screaming about.

"What the fuck do you know?" I have no idea what this fight is, but I won't allow her to behave like that. This totally unjustified.

"Tell me. Begin with: why you left the hospital against every medical advice?" She has finally calmed down. She demands explanations I'm reluctant to give to her, but if I want to be alone within the next few minutes I have to talk to her.

"Do you know how expensive one day in hospital is?" I ask her back. What the hell is going on in her head? Why does she bother? Why now? Nearly three years after I left they think they could just pop up in my life again and then things go as if nothing has changed? They couldn't seriously have been thinking that.

_**K.**_

"Don't tell me that you're serious with that." Money? Since when is Ryan Atwood worried about money. This had been the last topic he was concerned of. I can't imagine that he's risking his health only because of money. He's too smart for that.

"What do you think? I don't have enough money to afford an insurance that actually would pay for that. Sorry that I'm not living in the wealth that you're used to, but not everybody has the luck to grow up in one of the richest families of California." I'm flattered. I can't believe that he's thinking that and that he's using it against me. This has never been one of Ryan's methods to get rid of someone.

"No, but you could!" I tell him. Nobody explicitly forced him out. He went voluntarily, without anyone telling him to go. I'm not going to take the blame for him leaving.

"And to what price?"?

To what price? A defeating sentence. What did I think? That he can take it a second time: watching how his mother was drifting into alcoholism, being the parent, because the others are out of service, being the punching bag and being burdened with more responsibility a kid in his age should be capable of taking? No, he couldn't and I shouldn't have expected him to be capable of that, but not having an idea about his past and his feeling connected to it is making it difficult to see behind the facade of the rough and tough boy who doesn't seem to know any pain and hurt. I can only look at him. There's nothing left to be said. He won't forgive me or us.

"You're right." I answer and then turn around. It was a stupid idea to think he would come with me and things would start to be as they've been before. Too much has happened, and worst: I don't even know what it was.

"I only want you to know how sorry I am for having put you through all of this. You shouldn't have had to deal with this again. There's only one thing I want you to believe me: I didn't become an alcoholic to hurt you. I had no control over it, because if I had, I'd never started doing things that had hurt you and Seth. Anyway I can't make it undone and the reason why I wanted you to come with me was because I worry about you: every single second since you've left. Indeed I didn't look for you, because I sensed that you must have your reasons for leaving, but when I saw this letter I realised it had been the wrong decision and that I never should have let you alone. And now I'm here because I'm afraid to lose you – to lose one of my sons. After all that has happened this is probably hard to believe, but it's the truth. I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of you being alone in this situation. I…want to be at your side and help you…even if you think you can't go any further. I want to be the one who pushes you through this, but you don't want to let me and I have to accept it. You're right. I have gambled away my rights of a mother and …I'm really sorry for that." I tell him. I feel the tears tickling in my eyes, but I swallow them down. I can't break down, not in front of him.

_**R.**_

Shit. Nice, and now I feel like an asshole? Is that fair? Is it fair that she's still able to make me feel bad, to produce a bad conscience which is absorbing me entirely? Is that fair? Deep down I feel that I don't want anything more than going back and have things as they've been before, but after what has happened? It's so fucking hard. It's ripping my soul into pieces. I want to go back, but I'm afraid. What happened can happen ever and ever again, and I' m not solely talking about the drinking. I'm pretty much over that. It's…I can't look him into his face, without feeling fear and hatred at once. It's exactly the feeling that I had towards my father, it's only worse. He gave me the feeling of being protected, of not having to be afraid and then he changed and I couldn't prevent it. As much as I want to believe that this had been an exceptional situation, I can't lose the feeling of being afraid of a person in whose presence I once felt the most protected. But somehow she's right. That had nothing to do with Seth and less to do with her. I watch her leave. She wants to know about it, but I can't tell her. She probably wouldn't believe me anyway. This hadn't been Sandy at all. Sandy wasn't supposed to react that way. No, they won't believe me. I hadn't been there for longer than a year. There was no reason why she'd believe me instead of him.

_**K.**_

When I'm standing in the doorframe I turn around one last time. I'm disappointed. Somewhere I had guessed he'd respond to what I've said: giving me pieces to understand him. He didn't. We lock eyes and there's something. I can see desperation and depression at once. He's looking so helpless. He's looking like a Ryan who's struggling for an explanation and wrapping it into the right words, but I can't help him. He got lost somewhere on the way over the years and it's my, and my husband's fault rather than his. I turn around again and put my hand onto the handle.

"What do you want to hear?"

I hear a fragile and trembling voice. I close my eyes. Eventually. Eventually he gave me something. One sentence can sometimes be more than every testimony. I can hear what lies underneath this sentence. I stop and face the door. What do I want to hear? I don't think I can pronounce it in one sentence.

"What made you leave and never come back? I figured out that it's somehow related to something between you and Sandy, but…I also think there's more and I'd already be happy if you only talked to me about this 'little more'." I tell him. I hear him sigh.

"You mean that it was fucking hard for me to watch you losing it more and more? That it was even harder for me than watching my mother losing it, because I got to know the person before the alcoholism? That I only stayed, because Seth begged me to and I wasn't able to abandon him, because I remembered what crappy feeling it is to be abandoned in such a situation? That I felt like living through my past again? That it was one entire nightmare and not even my girlfriend had been there for me?"

_**R.**_

I let her in into pieces of what it was like for me. If this is what she wants she can get it. I'm tired and I can't tell of what. Maybe it's the medication that's making me confused, or maybe it's the whole situation which starts to frighten me: not knowing how things are going from here, not having any certainty about how the next day might be, not having control over myself.

_**K.**_

I watch him. He looks exhausted. I can't imagine what agony prevails in him, not only physically, but even psychological. I go back and sit down on the edge of the bed. I take his hand. It's ice cold. I look into his eyes and I don't need to have any psychological degree to see his suffering. With my thumb I rub a little spot on the back of his hand where the colour of the skin is different from the rest. It's no mole, just a little spot that is a little paler than the rest of the skin. I've never noticed it before. I never felt emotionally so close to Ryan.

"I'm truly honest: I can't imagine how the situation had affected you or Seth, I only know that it must have been awful. Things between Seth and me will never be the same again, neither will it be between me and Sandy and I don't expect them to be between the two of us. I only want there something to be, something that allows me to take care of you. And I'm not saying this out of pity, because I'm Caleb Nichols daughter. I don't do pity, understood?"


	10. 9 Truth

**A/N.: **Thanks to my beta who still keeps up with her good work

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_** –**_ _Truth makes us doubt what we used to believe_

_**C.**_

"You should give the boy some space to breathe." I advice my daughter when she exits Ryan's room.

"What?"

"The boy went through a whole lot, so don't rush with anything." I let her know. I can see that having the boy back and being able to fix everything that got damaged between the two of them is all she wants right now, but I also need to warn her. Wounds like those don't heal overnight. They need time and patience. Every too rushed decision, not well thought of sentence can rip them open again and I want to protect her from disappointment, because I doubt the boy will give in to her charm soon.

"What made you change your opinion about him and when did it happen?" She asks me with astonishment about the words I just said to her.

"Well, let me call it some kind of scary encounter." I answer her. I'm afraid the truth might force us apart again and I don't want to lose my daughter. I'm also aware that she'll demand answers at some point of time and not giving them to her might lead to the same result. I have to wait for the right time to reveal the true relationship between Ryan and me to her.

"Okay Dad, I know that you're hiding something from me since I mentioned Ryan in the kitchen and now I want to know what it is." She determines. She wants to fix the puzzle of the events happening in her absence.

"Okay…as you wish, but you have to promise me not to freak out." I reply, the tone in her voice not leaving any space for another option than this. She has forced the right point of time to come – sooner as I wished it was.

"Alright, I promise."

"The evening before the morning I came by and brought you to the rehab centre Ryan came to me and proposed some kind of deal...

_I was sitting in my study, brooding over some contracts. I hadn't expected anyone even though I was still in the buildings of the Newport Group. I heard a knock at my door. I had no clue of who it could be._

"_Come in." I answered looking up from my papers, waiting to see the face that was disturbing me and my job. I was flabbergasted when the boy slowly but self-confidently entered my office. His face was swollen and there were several cuts in his face. I was asking myself whom he had beaten up this time. At least I was witness to see that he probably had lost the fight. No, he didn't look good. I started to worry, because I had no explanation to why the boy in such a state appeared on my threshold._

"_What do you want?" I've been suspicious and…a little intimidated. He didn't look as he used to: all defensive and head ducked, but offensive. He was standing there not even taking into account that I tried to make him aware that I didn't want to talk to him._

"_Talk." He said determining, not rude, but determining._

"_I don't talk to you." I wanted to get rid of him. Only thinking about him made me furious at that point of time._

"_Maybe this time you do." He answered. He'd been way too self-confident for my taste. I would call it smug, but it wasn't. He just acted like an all mature man, who knew what he was doing. Regarding his true age this was which scared me._

"_Why would I?"_

"_Because you hate me, and want me to leave this place, and I can offer you this." He said straight into my face. There was no concern, no regret audible. He was saying this sentence straight forwards as if it meant nothing to him. He was offering me his stable luxurious life as if it wasn't of any value to him. In an instant I found my theory about this boy proven. _

"_And what do you want in return? Or better how much?" I was picking up my check-book. My first thought was that I knew from the very beginning that he was only after our money. This even was the proof that…my blind eyed and way too social son in law was nothing but a scallywag, not good enough for my daughter._

"_I don't want or need you money." He said. I can't tell what went through me when he had said this. I've been convinced that it had been about money. My head must have gone black, because I can't recall what I've been thinking._

"_Alright, then tell me."_

"_Your daughter needs help and you know that. She's sick – an alcoholic and if she doesn't receive help soon, she'll lose everything and most important: you'll lose her and Seth will too. Unfortunately Sandy isn't in any condition to help her, I'm at my wits' end and so I came to you." I've never heard him speaking so many sentences in a row. I'd been taken a back a little by his speech. There was powerfulness in his voice and the words he used that it was impossible not to listen to what he had to say. He could make a good politician if he overcame his fear to talk more often like that._

"_And how do you think this is going to happen?" I asked him._

"_As soon as I'll see you tomorrow morning coming to the Cohen's house, picking up your daughter and taking her to a rehab centre, I'll pack my bags and be gone when you come back." He really had a plan. He really had thought through this. This hadn't been a teenager I'd been talking to, but a businessman: someone who knows how to make deals. It was a well planned deal, something I never hold him capable of._

"_And how will you be sure that I really bring her to a rehab centre and not just drive around the block with her?"I wanted to show him the catch in his deal that he couldn't get to me. I was afraid of losing my power to a teenager from somewhere of the wrong part of the state._

"_I have to trust you."_

"_You trust me? C'mon, don't tell me you can trust me."_

"_I know what you daughter and your grandson mean to you, although you don't bother showing them a lot."And then he'd been gone. He didn't wait for my reply. He just went off and left me alone with his proposal. Of course I've realised that you've been not yourself lately and the scent of alcohol in the morning couldn't be ignored. He did hit a nerve. I've been worrying about you and his proposal made it worse: a poor street-boy like Ryan was willing to leave the comfortable nest you offered him to get you the help you needed. This was more than just a simple warning sign._

_I decided that it was worth a try and I came by at your house and you know the rest. When I came back that day the boy was gone. I hadn't trusted him. I thought of it as nothing but a scam, but he stood to his word. He gave up maybe the best that had ever happened to him to safe my daughter. He earned my respect due to this action and it grew with every passing day he remained disappeared. It was the moment I realised that he wasn't after the money and that he would really do everything for you and Seth. If I had known how much pain his departure would cause I would have tried to bring him back, but when I realised how Seth suffered under his absence, and how sad you were it was already too late. I found him and knew where he was, but I also noticed that it was too late to bring him back then. He had drawn a gap between his former life here and his new start._

_**K.**_

After my father finished his story I'm not sure what I'm feeling. Anger because he knew where Ryan had been all the time and thus possessed the opportunity to bring him back again. Sadness, because I know what Ryan gave up for me and my family. Desperation, because I have no idea how I can make up for this. Fury, because my husband wasn't able to prevent this. Rage, because I was the one to be blamed for the futile situation he had been in, and then there is the little part of me that has to smile a little.

"He stayed only because Seth begged him to. He must have realised that when you got involved he could leave without having a bad conscience." A wave of gratefulness hits me. Although my father didn't like the boy he had helped him out in his situation. He had been there for him. He didn't know that Ryan actually utilised him for his purpose.

"What do you mean?" He doesn't seem to have gotten the point of the whole deal.

"He had wanted to leave, Dad. He couldn't because he was incapable of leaving Seth alone in this situation. He let you solve the problem so that he could take off. It wasn't a deal, because Ryan was receiving twice. He got me help and the opportunity to leave." I try to explain him.

_**C.**_

"You mean he…fooled me?" Damn, this kid is smarter than I thought he was. Why haven't I realised that he didn't bother leaving? I doubt it would have made any difference. I still had wanted to get rid of him, no matter whether involuntarily or voluntarily.

"I think so."

"And how are things going from here?"

_**K.**_

"I've no idea." That's all I can say. I don't know. It sounds lame, but it's the truth. Although Ryan had eventually talked to me, I'm still not sure whether I have reached something – what I wanted to reach.

We go home. I guess Ryan won't be able to take anymore of me and my presence. In some way I already pushed him far. He needs a break and I do too. It's awful how hard it can be to remain patient. Added to that I have to report to my son and I have to find an explanation to why I've been away from home for so long. One thing is for sure, I won't bring Ryan home with me, which means I have to find a solution for his stay: a stay that's not too far away from here as I need to be able to see him every time I need to, or he needs me to.

I come home late that day. When I enter the house I can already hear my husband talking to my son.

"Hey!" I call out to make them aware of my presence. My husband peaks out of the kitchen.

"Hey honey, how was the trip?" He asks me. It's awful that I have to lie to my husband of whom I thought I love him unconditionally. Well, lying to him…shows me that my love towards him has a limit.

"Exhaustive." I answer him and kiss him. I have to hide my bad conscience. Hell, he's a lawyer. He can smell lies miles against the wind.

"I can imagine. A business trip with Caleb Nichole and I would be exhausted too." He answers with a grin.

"Stop talking like that. He's my father and I love spending time with him. He has changed and you witnessed it, so maybe it's your turn to start changing too." I snap at him. I've always hated it when he'd been talking about my Dad like that, but then there had been a reason –somehow. Now my father is a completly different person and he was helping me in this situation, although Ryan wasn't business or a part of our family – not anymore. I can't stand someone talking about a man who owned such a generosity of spirit.

"Sorry honey, I didn't want to upset you, but I still have trouble wrapping my head around Caleb's new image." My husband answers.

"No…no it's okay. I shouldn't have snapped at you." I reply. Now I have a bad conscience about my reaction. I should be able to maintain my composure.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. Nevertheless I carry a question around my heart that I need to address. I sit in bed and wait for my husband to join me. I watch him changing into his pyjamas. He climbs into bed and kisses me.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks me. He can read me like an open book. It doesn't need a lot for him to see that I'm caught in deep thoughts or even doubts. I look into his eyes and I'm scared of approaching the topic we've been avoiding for so long. We've never been talking about and if I've learned one thing in my marriage it is that Sandy Cohen only avoids topics that are frightening him; and there's not a lot that's frightening Sandy Cohen. I'm afraid of asking him, because I'm afraid of his reaction.

"Nothing." I say, because I'm not ready. The question is finished pronounced in my head, but I can't ask it.

"Doesn't look like nothing." He replies. I'm caught. Now I have to spill it out.

"I…I just have to think about Ryan lately. I'm still wondering what made him leave abruptly." I say, not trying to mention his role in this.

"What makes you think about him?" He asks me.

"I don't know,…why not? I mean…I still…feel connected to him." I answer. I feel attacked by his question.

"But he's gone." He answers indifferently and this is the last straw.

"You forced me to treat and love him like he was my own son, but you're not going to make me forget him as if he'd never been here." I tell him.

"Kirsten, what do you want?"

"Answers. What happened between you and him that you're thinking like that? What changed your mind about him?" I ask him.

"I…I can't tell you, I…only know that it is, as it is. Believe me, I wish things would never have happened as they did, but I can't undo it." He answers my in his calm voice.

"But you can fix it." I tell him. No matter how bad things were. My husband used to fix them, no matter how tough the battle was.

"But…not this time. Kirsten…what I've done…I…can't even justify it to myself…it makes me feel disgusted by myself…I can't fix this…not this. I…overstepped a border this time." He says. This sounds bad and urgent. He's never told me that much about what happened.

"Then tell me what happened. I know, what I've done to him was awful and I know that what you've done…can't be worse than what I've done, but I still told you and I want to try to…say sorry to him…one day." I add.

"And when I tell you it can be."

"I put him through his past once again, what can be worse?" I ask him, frowning my eyebrow. Now I'm not very sure anymore, whether I really want to know what has happened, or whether I'm too scared of what I might get to hear. I need to know. I need to, because I have to understand Ryan's fears to be able to help, to pull him through what he has – he is going through.

"I did too." My husband whispers, he's not looking at me. He's focusing the blanket. I put a hand in reassurance on his back. I've never seen him that devastated.

"Sandy, what's wrong?" He slowly turns his head towards my direction and I can see tears glistering in his eyes,

"Oh…God Sandy, now start talking to me. Immediately!" I demand of him.

"I…I can't." To see how badly he's suffering under himself is awful, and not being able to offer him any relief even worse.

"Sandy, start talking to me. We're both aware that…these times had been exceptional circumstances and…we didn't mean to put Ryan through his past again, did we?" I try to sooth him. I don't know who's sitting next to me, but it's not my husband. It's not the man I have been married with for so long.

"I…I…slapped his face several times…I can't even tell how often and…I didn't do it only gently, I guess. He never complained about it. He never said something. It was as if he was giving me his tacit permission for doing so…and I didn't get how wrong it was and…then one day…I…went postal." He says with vibrating voice. I'm afraid. Slapping his face with his violent background was already a tough thing. Hell, he grew up with an alcoholic mother, what must it have been like for him when I started drinking too? He grew up with an abusive father and his mother's abusive boyfriends, what must it have been like to be slapped again?

"Sandy, what happened?" I urge him to tell me the truth eventually.

"He…it…was obvious…that he was tired…and…he…dropped a glass. It was just a glass and…"

"And?" I'm anxious to listen to what he has to confess. My son already mentioned an accident with a glass.

"I…I came home that evening, totally beat from my job and…the situation at home wasn't brilliant either…it's not like your drinking didn't affect me at all. I just tried to ignore it. I can't count how often …


	11. Chapter 91 Revalation

**A/N.: **I'm so sorry for the infrequent updates, but unfortunately I've realsied that there's another life which requires my attention. Thanks a lot to my Beta ParisAmy and for the reviews and to those who read this story =)

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_**9.1 Revelation**_

_Ryan told me that you needed help. I didn't listen and instead slapped his face, although I knew he was right. Well, that evening I came home. My nerves were on the edge that day, and the thought of having to listen to one of Ryan's lectures was tearing at my thin nerves already. Who'd ever thought that it'd be Ryan one day lecturing me about my false behaviour? I only wish I'd reacted as he used to do: calm and thoughtful. I never did. I came home and I could smell that Ryan was preparing dinner. I guess cooking has some kind of soothing effect on him, because the worse things became at home, the more he was cooking. _

"_Hey Dad, Ryan made his spaghetti for tonight." Seth greeted me. He likes this spaghetti. I don't know what's so special about it. The recipe is simple, but it tastes amazing. I've never told Ryan that. I took everything what he did for granted, not even wasting a thought about his wellbeing. Generally speaking: I didn't waste a thought about both of the boys. I didn't even think about Seth._

"_Hey Sandy." Ryan greeted me too, when I emerged in the kitchen. "You look tired." No matter what I did, he never let me down. I ought to have seen that he looked exhausted too. That he was at his limit and that he needed a break. I think I saw it, but I didn't pay attention. I was too absorbed in my problems. I didn't even realise that my problems were also those of my family. _

_Dinners in the evening were silent. There was no babbling conversation anymore. The atmosphere was strained almost all hours of the day. Not even Seth had started one of his usual tales. I can't remember when he'd stopped doing so. Both boys were barely eating what they used to. I ought to have been alerted by that, but I wasn't; simply because I had my focus on myself and how miserable I was. After dinner Ryan was cleaning the table and the dishes as usual. I didn't help. I didn't even think that he'd liked to have my help. He was carrying the dished into the kitchen, carefully. I could see that he was shaking. There must have been so much tense buried inside of him – or he was just tired. I can't tell._

"_Sandy?" He asked me and I looked up from my newspaper. I didn't give him an answer, but waited for him to start._

"_I…know you're busy with your job…but I can't handle all of this anymore. I mean…school, the household…Kirsten…it's…"_

"_There's nothing wrong with my wife." I reproached him. Ryan was asking for help. This ought to have set off my alarm system._

"_Yeah…right…but…I could need a little help with all of this."_

"_Nobody asked you to do any of this." I answered. I behaved like a little child. I don't know what I'd been thinking when I said this to him._

"_Yeah…but nobody's mad about me doing it either." He responded. I slammed the newspaper on the counter to tell him that he wasn't supposed to talk to me like this. He flinched at the sound. It's awful how I still can remember his reactions, but not having taken them into account at that time._

"_Sorry." He muttered._

"_Stop this attitude of yours. You're insulting my wife, complaining about the little support we demand from you, what is this? A teenage rebellion?" _

"_You're right…I'm sorry." He didn't speak, but whispered again. He was shaking even worse than before. There must have been so much rage boiling and I'm glad that I've never witnessed him releasing it._

_Shatter. There it had been. The trigger. Something snapped in my head and I got up from my chair._

"_What the hell!" I screamed at him. Ryan was kneeling on the floor, picking up the shards of glass from the floor._

"_I…I'm sorry. I'll clean it up and replace it's…nothing to worry about." He said._

"_Nothing to worry about? Now you're even damaging my possessions?"_

"_I'm sorry Sandy, I didn't intend to do so."_

"_I'm not buying all your 'sorry's' anymore." I said and slapped his face with the newspaper; not once, not twice._

"_Stop it." He said. I didn't listen. I've been in rage and I was slapping him with the newspaper like __a dog that doesn't obey._

"_Stop it!" He suddenly hissed and grabbed the other end of the newspaper. The strength which got transferred through this action should have made me aware about his tension, his rage and his aggression – his anger._

"_I said I'm sorry and now stop being like this. You're not yourself anymore." He hissed and tore the newspaper out of my hand. I've never seen this glance before. It was intense. It was deep dark and cold, as if he only with his eyes could hurt me, if he only stared long enough at me. He was right, I hadn't been myself and that's why I didn't recognise the danger in his eyes._

"_Not myself? You haven't been yourself all the time. You've been playing the young innocent boy and now this? How shall I know that you haven't been the one making Kirsten that sick?" I screamed into his face._

"_Sandy, leave it with that, okay? I think you need some rest. You've had an awful day and…"_

"_Stop patronizing me." I slapped his face with my hand._

"_Stop slapping me and we can talk about it." He answered in an unusual smug tone._

"_You want to take me on?" I asked him and started pushing him around. His body was heavy, as I thought it was._

"_No I don't, but I won't allow you to be someone who you're not."He didn't raise his voice, but his voice had been strong. _

"_Don't worry I'll show you who I am." I told him and pushed._

"_Sandy, stop it. You don't want to do that." He said. I wasn't thinking, I wasn't feeling. I don't know what went on._

"_Who the fuck are you telling me what I want and what not?"I pushed him again and again. He was stumbling backwards. And there it had been. This dead-look. Entire emptiness. Dark and numb. Ryan had simply shut down._

"_If this is what you have to do. I'm not going to defend myself, 'cause I don't wanna hurt you." His voice turned from strong into soft and understanding. Permission. He was giving me permission and he didn't punch back. I was pushing him until he stood with his back against the wall. I didn't plan to. He didn't react. He didn't respond and that was making me even angrier than I'd already been. I've never felt this rage before. It was as if some kind of beast was gnawing on me, forcing me to relieve it, because I couldn't stand the pain it was causing anymore. I had to let it free. It was such an intense feeling. I wasn't able to brace myself. I wasn't able to hold back the beast inside of me. I looked at Ryan, into his eyes and he looked back. Our eyes locked and that pulled the trigger. The beast finally reached the surface. It wasn't me, but the beast. It was the beast that felt its body entirely tense up, making fists and then hauling off after Ryan. He stood there at the wall, motionless like he was his own shadow. My cold knuckles collided with the solid bone of his cheek. I felt a pain running through my fingers. It was as if the beast inside me needed this to lick blood. The feeling of the pain caused relief – relief I've been seeking for and now had found. I hauled off another time. My fist met with the hot skin and the cheek bone. It was like punching against a wall. I watched how Ryan slowly turned his head back, which snapped to the other side under the force of the punches. It was the third punch into his face that made him sliding down on the wall, falling onto his knees. Blood was dripping down his chin. With a hand he wiped it away. He looked at me. I should have recognised the desperation in his eyes._

"_Are you finished now? Can I go?"He asked, struggling back to his feet._

"_Oh yeah, I'm finished with you." I said and grabbed his upper arm, dragging him back onto his feet. He hadn't gained his balance back then, but I pushed him into the direction of the patio. I didn't want to see that my few punches already had an impact on his body. He stumbled into the corner of the table. I could hear him wincing. I grabbed his t-shirt in the back and nearly through him towards the door. He lost his balance and stumbled into one of the chairs, crashing it and his body onto the ground. The chair was destructed into pieces, solely through his body weight._

"_Get up and piss off, now!" I screamed at him, grabbed his arm once again and finally managed to throw him out of the house, where he landed ungentle on his knees._

"_What the hell is going on here?" I heard Seth' voice from behind. My head turned back. I saw his __face: disgust and unbelieving._

"_Nothing Seth, go." Ryan answered calmly. I looked back to him, into his battered face which started to adopt all colours._

"_But…"Seth was looking back and forth between Ryan and me. I don't know what this must have seemed like for him._

"_Go to Summer Seth." Ryan told him. His voice was steely again._

"_But…Dad, did you…what's going on?"_

"_Go. To. Summer. Seth! Now!" Ryan had screamed at him._

"_O…okay…you know what you're doing. You always do." Seth said and turned on his heels to the front door and went away. I looked at Ryan. Slowly my mind started working again and I saw what I had done. I felt sick of myself. I looked at my hands. My knuckles were red and swollen. I looked back to Ryan who was heavily breathing on all his fours._

_I was disgusted by myself. I've had broken the primary principle._

"_Ryan…" I wanted to go to him, help him up. He stretched out his arm and with his hand he signalled me to stop._

"_Don't…Sandy…just…leave." He said and in his voice I could hear confusion and pain._

"_But…I didn't…"_

"_You did." He said. Our eyes locked one last time. He had shut down. He was dark. There was nothing else. The wall he had slowly pulled down. The wall which had cost him effort and energy to pull down went up again. I've made a mistake and I never can make it good again._

_**K.**_

"…the next day he was gone." My husband finishes. I look at him. I have no doubt that he's still the man that I've married twenty-three years ago. I only wonder who the antagonist of the story had been he told me.

"I don't believe you." I said firmly. I couldn't. This wasn't my husband.

"It's true." He answered. I could see the tears now rolling down his cheeks. I have doubts whether this is the man I've married twenty-three years ago.

"How…could you? He's a kid, working his hands to the bones for keeping the family together and functioning and …you did that to him?" I can't warp my head around this. This is impossible.

"I know…and…I don't know how I could have done this. I don't know how I'm supposed to live with this and…"

"Stop drowning in self-pity. Did you ever think what this must have done to Ryan? He trusted us…you, he respected and looked up at you, and you…" I'm confused and furious. I know I have no right to lecture my husband. I haven't been much better. I've verbally abused him and made him a slave of my alcoholism. I probably hurt him as much as my husband did. Things made a clear sense now.


	12. 10 Fear

**A/N.: Thanks for the nice reviews and to my Beta. After the discoveries of the last chapter I'd like to mention: there are more secrets about being revealed**

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_**10.**__**Fears –**_ _Are the impediment of trust_

_**K.**_

I couldn't sleep during the whole night. What my husband had told me was running through my mind and I couldn't stop it from running. I feel bad. Somehow I have caused the situation. If I hadn't been drinking, Sandy probably never would have lost it. I'm the reason for them falling apart. The entity. There always had been a bond between the two of them, which I envied and then I've cut it. I don't know how to look into Ryan's eyes again. I feel so stupid about my speech the day before. I had no right for going postal on him.

I open the door and enter the room. It takes my breath. My chest feels tight. All I see is a nurse changing the sheets of an empty bed. She turns around and smiles at me. She's young.

"Hello, are you looking for someone?" She asks me. I'm taken aback by this scene. I expected a lot, but never this. This scene describes the worst scenario you can face: a hospital room and its former occupant gone.

"Uh…yeah…I wanted to visit the young man who's been in this room yesterday." I say.

"Oh, the doctor took him to surgery this morning. He's probably in recovery by now." She says smiling and then finishes her job. What is she smiling about? Ryan's in surgery and nobody told me.

"You can wait here if you like to." How far have we come that Ryan lied straight into my face? Pretending as if things were alright and then he didn't even tell me about this. There are cracks – deep and huge.

"Can I bring you something? Water or tea?" The nurse asks me after she's finished with the bed.

"Uh…a tea would be nice, thanks." I answer. She smiles at me again and then leaves me. I sit down in one of the chairs.

"Here we go." The nurse comes back and hands me a cup of peppermint tea.

"He'll be back soon." She adds in a warm manner that makes me nearly comfortable in this surrounding. Waiting. I hate waiting, because it makes you able to think – to think about things which went wrong in the past. I have a lot to think about.

I startle when the door opens and I hear male voices talking. I see the white back of a man, who's pulling a bed.

"Careful guys." He says.

"This guy is pretty much out of it. I doubt he notices anything." Another voice answers. With a start I jump up from the chair and clear my throat. They better know that someone is watching them.

"Who are you?" The man in a white gown asks me smugly.

"I'm the 'guy's' foster mother." I tell him.

"The guy is definitely too old for being protected by his mother."

"And you're too young for not be." A deep numb voice slurs. He hasn't changed in that aspect.

"Oh…how long are you awake?"

"Long enough that you should watch your ass when these drugs wear off, or hide at your mom's." He answers and sits up. I see that he's swaying. He must be drugged up badly.

"One moment, you better lie back down." The doctor says.

"After the dozen corners this guy hit, I'm certainly not going to allow him to lift me into the bed there." He supports his body with his arms, but winces. I can see that his right elbow is bandaged.

"Could you…please…turn around?" He asks me in an annoyed tone.

"Pardon?" I ask him. I don't understand his behaviour.

"This is already humiliating enough, so please don't make it any worse."

"Oh…okay." I turn around. I can feel the tension between us developing again. No, there was no change.

_**R.**_

I slowly slide down of the bed. My legs feel wobbly. I feel hands grabbing my upper arms. I don't like this kind of support, but I don't have any other choice. I doubt I could support my own with me legs. I slowly make it to the bed and already these few meters make me exhausted. Shit. This is all I can think of right now. I don't know how, but I manage to climb into the bed.

"Okay, if you need anything, you know how this works." The doctor says and leaves with the other guy. Kirsten turns around. I don't want her around right now. I only want to be alone.

"And why didn't you tell me?" She asks me. Anger is no description for what's radiating from her eyes right now. I close my eyes, trying to black out her annoyance she carries around when she's not getting hat she wants. I'm not up to one of her tirades. I still feel like a bunny on bad weed.

"You didn't see any need for telling me?" Definitely pissed off.

"Don't you think your behaviour is a little inappropriate?" I ask her back.

"I…thought, what about yesterday?"

"Do you really think that some nice words and a kind action can make me forget?" Can someone please knock some sense into this naive blond head?

"But…yesterday…I thought you…"

"I gave you what you wanted to make you realise that things have changed." I answer her. Did she really think I tell her and then she could go on like that? I'm tired of all of this.

_**K.**_

And how things have changed. The Ryan that I knew never would have talked to me like that and never had been inconstant.

"You can't do this to me. We…why don't we talk about this?" I ask him.

"Hell I'm tired, okay! They've been removing a tumour from my elbow a few minutes ago, I need to wrap my head around that I'll have to spend a couple of months in hospital and I don't have any plan for how I'm supposed to pay the bills for it and on top of that I have not the slightest clue of why I agreed on coming with you."

"You're tired and shaken up that's normal after surgery. As long as I'm here I'm not going to let you stay in a hospital longer than necessary, because you don't like them. You're still insured on our name and you're fucking afraid but haven't figured it out yet." I tell him the truth. This is the only way I can explain his mood sways. He's afraid to be alone in this situation and he's afraid of coming back. Of course he's aggressive. Everybody else would be. He's trapped. No matter which way he goes he has to face at least one of these fears: loneliness, or dealing with the conflict between him and Sandy on top of his condition. Former seems to be the easiest way. I'm talking about Ryan. Ryan doesn't do easy.

_**R.**_

Her words are echoing in my head. Where does she take the right from for talking to me like that? I don't like that. My head starts pounding and I feel as if my head and my body are wrapped into thick cotton. I can't follow her words. They don't make sense to me. I don't understand them. Why is she so sure she knows what she's talking about. She doesn't know. Or does she? How would she? I'm confused. I shake my head, lie on my side and close my easy. Cold chills run through me and I pull my knees a little closer up to me body. Something is hurting, but it's not my elbow and I'm not talking about my head.

_**K.**_

He curls together. I can see his uneasiness and agony is written all over his face. The back of his hand – the spot they've tortured him with a needle – his black and blue. The colours strike out expressively as his skin is pale as the sheets.

"It's awful if someone who had hurt you that badly can still mess up with your feelings, and still knows what's going on inside, although you try to hide it so well." I say to him and rub his back. He shifts away from my touch. I sigh.

_**R.**_

"You know, that way we're not getting anywhere." She says. As if I want to go anywhere. I…don't know what I want. I don't want to see them again, but I don't want to be alone either. Usually, I don't care. I'm used to be alone, but not…now. I…hate the feeling that there's actually nobody who cares, and the only persons who care I can't trust, because I doubt that the caring has something to do with me rather than with their bad conscience.

"Hell Ryan, don't do this to yourself. You don't have the strength to do all of this on your own. You are already tired and it'll get worse. Let me help you. I know you don't want me to right now and I can understand you, but…please Ryan. This is not for me, but for you. Why can't you understand that you'll need the help?"

"Because you're making me a cripple and I don't…want to be the bad conscience-reliever only to make you sleep peaceful at night." I snarl back. I want to be alone now. I can't really say that I feel well and when I don't feel well I don't want to have company. I don't need an audience watching me how I sick I feel, and I absolutely don't have the strength to brace myself and pretend as if I was okay.

"That's not true Ryan, but indeed I've witnessed what this has done to my Mom and thinking about you being alone, doesn't seem right to me – not you. Not after all you have given up for us…why can't you accept the fact that, although we've made some mistakes, you still mean something to us? Believe me Ryan, it's true. I can't imagine how bad we've hurt you. I can only guess it must have been awful. But I wouldn't talk to you like that over and over again, if I didn't mean it."

_**K.**_

"I can't do this Kirsten. Not…now." He answers me. I can hear exhaustion in his voice and I feel bad for putting him under this pressure, especially after my husband told me last night, but I can't let him off the hook. Not after I heard what was done to him.

"You don't have to…step by step…small steps…as slow as you think it's good for you. Because this is what it's all about. It's you. You don't have to trust me and you don't have to pick up our relationship from where it ended. Only let me help you with this. You can leave when this is over without having a bad conscience, because I know what we've done to you was awful. Just let me help." I try to explain him that I don't expect anything from him. I only want to be allowed to be there for him.

_**R.**_

"Help? You mean paying hospital bills while I stay month after month in hospital. Great." There it is: take the money and stay away from us. That's not what I need right now. Why didn't I stay in Boston? I should've stayed there. I could've been able to determine my life on my own and not getting determined.

"No Ryan, I'll take you out of here, home." It's getting even better. As if I feel the urge to enter this building once again. Not after what has happened in there. This house is nothing more but pure horror.

"Oh no." I only answer to make my point clear. I'm not going there again. Never. No matter what happens.

"Well, as…I know that things between you and Sandy aren't alright…I thought about a house in nearby, at the beach. Actually it's my Dad's house, but he offered me to bring you there. I can stay there and help, if you need me to and you don't have to face Sandy."

"And Sandy won't wonder where you are all the time?" I don't buy this. It's too easy as if this could work. Well, part of me doesn't want it to work. This part is only waiting for one more failure, for another proof that things haven't changed that what Kirsten and Sandy did weren't just the destiny of the circumstances, but the reality.

_**K.**_

"Ryan, you don't need to have a master plan for everything. The only thing that should be important to you now, is your health. Let me take care of the rest." I sooth him. He needs control. He's too afraid of things spinning uncontrolled that he doesn't trust anyone but himself. He has all right to. He has witnessed too often what happens if things get uncontrolled and as result he was hurt way too often, as if he could throw these experiences away.

_**R.**_

Let her take care of the rest? I'm not sure whether I can do that. I don't even know what all this is supposed to mean. I'm…confused in some way, I just don't seem to get the point and that's annoying.

_**K.**_

"C'mon Ryan, there's a hell of a trip lying ahead from you." Maybe if he realises that this is not being handled alone, he might see the need for me helping him.

_**R.**_

"This trip has already started." I remind her. I crawl a little deeper under the blanket in the hope that the chills leave and she realises that I'm in no mood for talking and forgiving. It's not that I don't want to…I'm just not capable of.


	13. 11 Help

**A/N.: So here's an update. I hope you're still enjoying the story. Thanks to my beta ParisAmy and for the nice reviews =)**

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_**11.**__**Help**_ – _I'm still there for you, no matter how hard you push_

_**K.**_

I lean against the door frame. He sits in a chair, trying not to notice me, trying not to show the agony the liquids streaming through his veins cause in his body. He doesn't want to show weakness. He never had wanted to. He doesn't let me look behind his stony wall of avoidance and indifference. After his radiation session yesterday afternoon, he just went to bed, curled up and pretended as if I wasn't there. He didn't say a word through the rest of the day. Did he have headaches? Dizziness, or anything my Mom used to complain about afterwards? I don't know. I don't think that all of this doesn't do anything to him. He just doesn't let me into it. On the other hand, I said to him that it is up to him how deep he lets me in. There are only some obvious marks he can't conceal. His skin is paler than it used to be. The needles the doctors, and nurses strike under his skin leave evil black and blue marks. I can only watch his silent agony and the torture he has to go through. He's taking a small sip of a cup of juice someone had brought him earlier. His hand his shaking. He carefully puts the cup back and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. I'd like to sit next to him being there, but he doesn't let me. I wonder whether he recognises me standing in the door frame, whether he recognises how worried I really am. What is worrying me is what will happen when I bring him to my father's house. He won't let me help him in any way. Everything he does and says to me is another attempt to push me away and I have to stay strong not allowing him to finally push me away. I can only watch. It's awful. I'll have to wait and watch him becoming less and less. I sigh. I'd do anything if I could take any of this from him. If I only could give him at least the feeling that he has found a place where he's welcome and safe and where he can retreat until he's better again, that there is a refuge for him. I can't. For him all this is another violation of his freedom. The more I'm frightened that he had eventually agreed to come with us and let us violate it. Inwardly he must be awfully helpless and left alone. From the outside he seems not to care about that too much.

_**R.**_

I sit in the back of the car and I feel…uncomfortable and not only physically. I recognise her staring at me, watching me trying to witness my breakdown only to be able to show me that she'd been right from the very beginning, only to show me that I'm incapable of taking care of myself, only to show me that she's been so damn fucking right. Alright I feel like crap and I only want to lie down as soon as possible. I only want to be left alone and hide somewhere. I hate it if people star at me when I'm tired and struggle to keep my stomachs contents. I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. Her presence is so dominant. It's radiating from her immensely. I want to switch it off, the awareness that she's there. Oh my God, I only want to go to bed right now. I feel the chills running through my body and I have to brace myself not to start trembling. I don't want her to see this. I don't want her to start her hovering. Oh God, I feel so sick. The drive to the house takes longer than I expected. I can't sit any longer. I need to get out of the car. This strained silence is driving me crazy. Everybody is walking on egg shells, and the worst: I'm certain that I am the reason for that. I…just want to have things normal again. I don't like being in the centre of everyone's attention and…I feel lost – entirely lost. I have no plan. I don't know what to do and I'm …helpless. I hate this feeling. It doesn't feel right. I always have a plan. I always have a clue what to do. I always can handle things on my own, but…it's just too much. And whom to thank for? Kirsten's sudden appearance and that she brought up all these well buried issues: her alcoholism, Seth's depression, Sandy…Sandy. Oh God. I feel how my heart starts racing at this thought…or maybe the meds…. I feel the sweat tickling on my forehead. I can't get this image out of me head: his angry face, his hand… his fist. I still see it my dreams, I still have nightmares.

_**K.**_

I watch him. His walls start to crack. I can see his discomfort. He wants to get out of the car and probably lie down. He needs to. He has to rest now. I don't want to do anything more than taking him into my arms. Eventually we reach the house. I watch him how he climbs out of the car on unsteady feet. My father tries to support him, but Ryan backs away. He slowly makes his way to the house. I have to brace myself not to rush to his side, but from my Mom I remember how important it was to be independent as long as possible. Not to have the feeling of being…sick. He slowly follows us, making his way up the stairs carefully. I try not to let him notice that I'm watching him. I don't want to upset him even more. I can see his exhaustion when we enter the house. He looks lost and uncomfortable, the way he's staying in the hallway, glancing around – unsure what to do next.

"Well, I guess you'd like to lie down for a while, so I'll show you your room." I try once again to break the ice. I feel bad for having to drag him upstairs, but I know his urge for privacy. I go and he follows me – my father on his heels, never letting the gap between him and Ryan becoming too huge. We reach the room. It's a huge bright one, with an own bathroom. He'll need it probably. The bed is all ready for him to climb in. He hesitatingly enters the room. I notice that he doesn't want to give me an insight into his physical condition, thus it's on me to give him the space he needs.

"Alright then. I'll leave you alone and you can settle. Take your time and if you need anything at least one of us will always be in the house." I throw a look at my father, who seems at a loss as well. We exit the room and close the door. There's nothing more for me to do.

_**R.**_

I'm relieved when the two leave. I sit down on the edge of the bed – actually a real bed not only a mattress like in Boston. No, I don't feel well. I let myself fall to the side and curl up on the covers of the bed. I don't want to stay up again to change or put my shoes off. I…just want to lie down and close my eyes; drifting into the peaceful darkness that conceals all the hurtful reality around me.

I wake up. My heart is pounding heave against my chest – speeding. A nightmare. Again. I try to get my breath back under control. While concentrating on it I realise the pounding in my head. Oh God. I want to shoot myself. Oh shit. I feel convulsions in my stomach. Not good. I want to jump up. Why am I tucked in? Who stripped me down to my underwear? Hell, what about priv… I can't even think this thought to an end. I throw the blankets off my body and jump…out of bed. No, not good. Everything's a blur…I can't hold back any longer. I need to go! I run into the bathroom and slam the door shut. Luckily the lid is up. I wouldn't have had the time to open it, as my stomach now turns into evil convulsions making it impossible to keep its contents. It hurts. With each convulsion and each retching my head starts pounding even harder. I don't know what to concentrate on. The chills that are running through my body? The stomach aches? Nausea? Headache? I don't know. I have to hold on tight on the bowl. I doubt that my body was able to keep itself upright. The convulsions become heavier, with each time I retch into the bowl, although there's nothing left in my stomach. Help. I want this to stop. I have the feeling as if my head bursts into pieces. I try to take deep breathes. I inhale the cold and dry air: slowly and considered. I have to calm down. My body has to calm down. I'm so tired. I want to go back to bed. I can't. Help. I feel miserable. Eventually I get my stomach back under control. I slump down and lean against the wall. I pull the towel next to me from its hook and try to cover my shivering body in it. Now I need a plan how to get up and back to bed. I don't want to get up, but sitting on the bathroom floor is way too cold for me. I can't get up. I'm too tired. I'll just close my eyes a bit and try to rest a bit – gaining some strength back. It'll help. Help.

"Ryan, sweetie…" I feel a hand on my shoulders. I open my eyes. Where am I? I've lost orientation. I have to look around to realise that I'm in a bathroom. Why am I in a…Okay, my stomach made its point clear. I'm shivering. I look up to the person that hand belongs to. It's Kirsten.

"You're okay?" She asks me, her face drawn with concern. I want to answer, but a heavy convulsion catches my attentions and I heave over the toilet bowl once again. There's not really something left to come out, but the cramps won't stop. I feel a hand on my back.

"Take deep breaths. It'll help your stomach to settle." She says. Easier said than done. One cramp follows the other.

_**K.**_

I watch him retching and it rips my heart out to watch him in agony, but there's nothing I can do for him. I rub his back in circles. His body is all tensed up, but I can't figure out whether it's me who's making him flinch or whether it's the shivers of cold making him tens up. His body relaxes a little, and he slumps back down into his previous position.

"Here." My father comes in and hands Ryan a glass of water. Ryan takes it with shaking hands and takes small sips. I never thought that my father was able to behave nearly as gently as he was towards Ryan. He prepares a toothbrush with toothpaste. He's really caring. My father once again manages to astonish me by demonstrating a new side.

"You should brush your teeth. Your stomach acid will damage them otherwise sooner or later." My father says and then hands him the toothbrush. Ryan hesitatingly accepts it and slowly starts brushing his teeth. I leave the two men alone and prepare the bed for Ryan. I put a throw over the blanket and add some cushions to the pillows. Ryan will need all comfort he can get. I want to make it as comfortable as I can for him. I watch my father helping Ryan up. Contrary to me, he doesn't back away from Ryan's harsh rejecting behaviour. They slowly make their way to the bed. Ryan's trembling. I doubt that he'd be able to walk even this short distance without my father's supporting arm. Ryan slowly sits down on the edge of the bed, falls to his side and the pulls his legs up to his body, making himself as small as possible. My father leaves us. I tuck him in and brush through his hair.

"Why are you doing this?" He asks me. I'm taken aback. I don't know what he means.

"What?" I ask him back.

"Why do you care?" His voice is nothing but a whisper. I sit down on the bed and put an arm around his shivering form.

"Believe it or not, but I still love you like my own son. This never changed. I guess, during the time in rehab I realised how much I love you – the feeling got more intense. This is all. Nothing more." I tell him. He doesn't respond. His eyes are closed.

"'s so cold." He whispers. It tears my heart a little more every time when his wall losses another brick.

"I know. It'll get better. You'll see tomorrow you'll feel better." I tell him, while holding him with one arm and rubbing his back with the other one. It doesn't take long and he's fallen asleep. I stay with him for a little longer, and then I leave him in his peaceful state of sleep.

"Walls start cracking." My father says when I join him in the kitchen.

"Slowly and I'm not sure whether I like it." I answer him and pour myself a mug of coffee.

"He won't have the strength to keep them up anyway, and he's a smart boy. He knows that." He says and pads my back.

"We should be glad about our little success and think about the next step." He suggests.

"Next step?"

"We need to find a donor and therefore we need to find all relatives which are left."

"Well, there's his brother, but he's negative. His mother is a junky and alcoholic, they won't allow her to be a donor. And his father? Unknown." I answer to demonstrate that this step…seems to be futile.

"I thought his father was in jail, or not?" He asks me. I shake my head.

"Ryan's the product of an affair. Nobody knows who his father is."

"Then we need to find out. Ask Sandy, he knows enough competent people." He suggests. My jar drops and I have to close my mouth immediately to not to spill the sip of coffee on my shirt.

"Dad! This is impossible. I can't tell him that…Ryan's here. I mean…he would want to see him…and Ryan's not ready for this confrontation yet."

"Kirsten the two of them always shared a special bond. I can't imagine that this…disappeared from one to the other day."

"It did. Dad, Sandy…confessed…he did something awful to Ryan…actually he…beat him…badly. That's why Ryan decided that it was time for him to go. Sandy…I can't even say this…but he…in some way…abused him." I try to explain it to him. His facial expression tells me he didn't count on that.

"But…he regrets what he has done, does he?" He asks me.

"He does…ever so badly, but I doubt that Ryan can understand that. It had been awful exceptional circumstances leading to Sandy reacting the way he did, but for Ryan…"

"He just has had too much of that. But…what is this about?" My father asks me.

"I don't get your point."

"This here is about helping Ryan to live. What happened…was awful, but we can't allow it to interfere with us…helping Ryan getting through this. Talk to Sandy. He might have made a mistake, but he isn't stupid. He'll understand if you explain him why he shouldn't see Ryan in first place."

"You know you're talking about my Jewish husband, the bleeding-heart good-doer and poor public defender from the Bronx, do you?" I ask my Dad. Since when does he talk like that about my husband? He'd never done that before.

"_Yes, I know, and although I don't think that he's good enough for you I think that he might be the only one who could help us."_


	14. 12 Eyes

**A/N.: **Thanks for all those nice reviews and to my Beta, who just has written a very nice one-shot =) The chapter Sandy will appear on stage and I tried to rewrite the chapter as to take the whole POV-Confusion out of it. So, please put up with this chapter, the next one will be better

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_**12.**__** Eyes – **_We can see clearer through them, but what we see depends on the person who's looking through them

_**R.**_

I open my eyes a bit and see the sunlight. My body is sore, and I still have a headache, but …I can say it feels better than yesterday. I turn to the other side and my eyes meet a curly mop.

"Hey, you're finally awake." The familiar voice that I haven't heard for years says. I don't know what to answer. I'm certain that I've probably messed this up. I haven't been really honest with him and I can imagine how pissed he must have felt when he read Trey's letter. Coming has started to develop into a really bad idea.

"Hey." I answer and sit up.

_**S.**_

"Wasn't the nicest feeling when I had to get to know from your brother that you're sick." I have to show him how frustrated I've been about finding out…and not through him. He needs to understand that his behaviour was wrong and that he can't treat me like that. I'm not anyone, but his friend. At least this is what I thought we've been. I'm not sure what we're now.

_**R.**_

I don't deserve it any better. Explanation? I have none. I didn't think that this was any of his business. That's why I didn't say anything. He has had enough trouble with his family. There was no need for letting him know.

_**S.**_

"You're aware that you've been lying in all these e-mails you've been writing, in which you told me you were fine. Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me, or was this again one of your strange protection measures?" This must be one of these stupid only-Ryan-Atwood-thinks-that-way-explanation. There has to be.

_**R.**_

His voice is calm, but I can hear he's upset. I only shrug my shoulders as answer. I have no explanation at the ready. I just didn't tell him, or write him, or whatever.

_**S.**_

"You are aware off that I thought we were friends. Even after you pissed off without giving notice, I still thought we were friends, but this?" I at least want him having a bad conscience, because I know I won't be able to stay mad at him for too long. I'm way too glad that he's here again, and I'm way too afraid of losing him. After what we went through this can't be the end of our way. There are so many things we have to share.

"Ryan, I'm honestly not sure whether we're still friends. You know, friends tell each other the truth and stuff, but you didn't tell me this and…"

_**R.**_

"Seth, okay, I got it. I'm sorry, okay?" I cut him off. I can't listen to any more reproaches. I already feel bad about this.

_**S.**_

Of course he's sorry. He always is. Mom drinks herself into oblivion, Dad beats the shit out of him and he's the one sorry for it. This man lives in a twisted world.

"Nothing is okay. I let you help me…us and…you stayed here for me, although I witnessed that all of this went over your limit and…I felt so fucking grateful for it that I haven't even been angry at you when you finally left for good. But fuck! You should have told me! I don't know whether I could have done something, but I'm sure…I need to know these things and…" I express my gratefulness, hoping he might understand why I need him to be honest with me.

_**R.**_

"Seth, pipe down. I got the message…and now I'm here and I don't get your point." I can't take this drama immediately after waking up. This is just too much for me.

"And what now? Pretending as if nothing has happened?" He asks me and flops down on the bed.

"I have no idea." I answer him. I really have none.

_**S.**_

"You know, it doesn't look too bad…I mean…your head without hair, makes you seem even more masculine." I tell him. Well, actually with his pale face and the missing hair he looks like a doll. I want to…cheer him up. There's nothing else I can do for him. I can only cheer him up and I'll do. Also there's no need to talk about spilt milk. What has happened happened full stop. We don't need all this sort-it-out talk.

"Liar." He answers me. He probably has seen himself in a mirror. I should have thought about that first.

"Okay, so…you're hungry?" I ask him. Pretending as if nothing happened, doesn't seem to be such a bad idea. At least it doesn't appear to be that difficult.

"Do you mind, if I first make use of the bathroom?"

"Of course. I'll be waiting downstairs for you then." I answer him. I still can sense when Ryan is in the need for his brooding space. That's a good sign, isn't it? I mean that means that the distance between the two of us didn't really grow big, or?

_**R.**_

I wait for Seth to be gone, before I make my way to the bathroom. I have to move slowly, so I don't get hit by a wave of dizziness. I step under the shower and let the hot water massage my aching back, my aching muscles. I can feel how they relax. I don't want to let Seth wait for too long, so I step out and wrap a towel around my waist. Shit is it cold in here. I recognise that I'm still freezing. I hurry up with towelling myself dry and then put on some warm cloths. I slowly make my way downstairs into the kitchen. I can hear Seth's banter about this and that. I enter the kitchen and I'm astonished to see that it's his grandpa he's talking to. They never seemed to have such a good relationship before. I never listened to him talking like that to his grandfather.

"Good morning Ryan, I hope you're feeling better today." Mr. Nichol says and I'm taken aback. I thought I was only dreaming when he helped my out of my bathroom misery yesterday evening. As I see now: it wasn't a dream, but cruel reality, and I have no clue of how to respond to it.

_**S.**_

My grandpa? Nice to Ryan? We both exchange looks, but I better don't comment on this situation. It might damage the quite harmonic atmosphere.

_**R.**_

"Uh…yeah…, but no, thanks." I only answer hoping I don't sound as I feel by Mr. Nichol's question and hoping he won't take a no as offence.

_**S.**_

"You should eat something. You haven't eaten all day yesterday." My Grandpa is concerned? Hell, things really have changed.

"I…sorry, but I'm not hungry."

"I don't care, you need your strength." my Grandpa says in his all determining voice and places a plate with toast in front of Ryan.

"I'll get you some coffee." I say and get up. I still know how much he loves his black hot coffee.

"No…no coffee Seth. The treatment doesn't tolerate caffeine." Oh shit. Brick. Huge, red brick. How could I forget about this? Why didn't anyone warn me or gave me a list, which states what Ryan's allowed to consume and what not?

"Sorry." I mumble and sit down next to Ryan and watch my Grandpa place a glass orange juice in front of him.

"It's okay. So how's College going?" He asks me.

"It's cool, I mean it's not the east coast, but it's okay though. Man I envy you for being at the east coast."

"Too cold, believe me."

"And what are you doing now?"

_**R.**_

"Nothing. Getting bored and watching how my future fizzles out." I state. Actually, I have no idea how things will go one from now. I don't know how long this treatment will last. I don't know how long I can stay away from my studies without losing my scholarship, and I certainly don't know whether I can get a new one when I'm through to this…when I'll ever be. I didn't even manage to hand in the form to inform College that I'm currently sick and not cutting classes just for fun. I should start to think about a plan B, a good one, because A isn't going to work.

_**S.**_

"Berkeley is not far from here, maybe you can enrol there." I suggest. Right now he doesn't look too happy about his situation. Hell, he's Ryan. He's never happy when he gets the feeling of being useless and depending. He had been working so hard to get where he now, although I can only judge this from out time at Harbor, but I'm sure he hasn't changes in that aspect. This must be hard for him: watching how what he has been working for fade away, by something which is totally out of his hand and totally unfair considering Ryan's whole past.

_**R.**_

"Seth, first of all the term has already started. Second of all I don't even know how to pay my medical bills, so I don't even start thinking about how to afford Uni." No, facing reality is not good, if you do it in the morning. I shove the plate away from me. Now I'm really not hungry anymore. I want to close my eyes and hide from all these news I have trouble to digest. Everything's gone. I'm stuck here with nothing left. How am I supposed to deal with that?

_**S.**_

"But…maybe…I mean this won't be too bad, or? I mean, you'll find a solution." I'm a little bit scared by this mood swings. He barely showed any moods and now this? I have the feeling as if he's on the edge with something, but I can't figure out what it is. I need to, if I want to start helping him as he helped me, something which is impossible. I will never be able to provide him the same support. I'm not as strong as he is. I'm content that at some point I have to let him down. I know that. It's me I'm talking about. I'm not almighty like Ryan. I can't cope with trouble and dangerous situation.

_**R.**_

"Seth, things aren't that easy when…you have to make out a living on your own." I answer him. I didn't mean to snap at him, but I can't brace myself right now. I just…I don't know what's wrong with me lately. My nerves are fried and I can't calm them down. It's like everything is upsetting me lately.

_**S.**_

"Only because you make a complication out of everything, it doesn't mean that everything is complicated." I snap back at him. I thought he had realised that we're there for him – again. Why can he talk like that in front of me, after my mother went to get him and even my grandpa is ready to help him? Why can't he still behave as if he was all alone without any helping hands?

"Sorry, I…go back and lie down a bit." He apologizes and then leaves us.

Hell, is he sensitive. I didn't mean to insult him. I jump up from the chair and want to apologize too. I didn't know that he had to come up for everything alone. I'm not experienced in such things. I don't know how it is not having money. On the other hand I can't understand how he can be so blind and deaf that he doesn't see what's going on around him – that we're all there to make it easier for him. Grandpa stops me.

"Give him some space. It's not easy for him right now." He says. I never thought that my Grandpa was able to show that much understanding for Ryan.

"But you'll help him, or?" I ask him. I can't bear the thought that Ryan is alone with all these sorrows – sorrows he wouldn't have if he'd stayed with us. We left him alone with everything and now we have to make him trust us again, so we can lift some of the weights on his mind from him. I have to admit: Ryan's right. The situation really isn't as easy.

"Of course, but you know how hard it is to convince Ryan." I know. I know.

_**C.**_

It's hard to watch the boy – whom I disrespected with every fibre of my body - who once has had a bright future lying ahead now struggle with his live. He could have had it so easy – implementing his plans and dreams, but he was thrown in a downward spiral instead and no one has cared. It was as if nobody had actually wasted a thought about Ryan's life and now we all pretend to be fussy about it. I can understand that he's pissed and distrustful. I would be too.

_**S.**_

"It's unfair. He always worked harder than anyone else, but someone seems to like throwing immense obstacles in his way – as if someone doesn't want him being happy." I say to my Grandpa. In the last years I was able to build up a bond of trust between him and me. If I didn't feel like I could talk about something to Mom or Dad, I could always come to him.

_**C.**_

"Let me figure something out. Right now the best is if he rests. Although he looks as if this treatment doesn't do him anything, it's just a facade." I warn my Grandson not expect too much physical strength from his friend.

"I know. I know."

I meet my Grandson's concerned face. I have to do something. I have to think.

"Excuse me for a bit, but I have something to check on." I say to him and then disappear in my study.

Later that day I go upstairs. I haven't seen or heard anything from the boy after the morning's events. I knock gently at the door. I don't want to burst into his privacy. I owe him this after the thread I imposed on him. I don't get a response, thus I slowly open the door. Ryan's sitting on the bed reading a book. I clear my throat to make him aware of my presence. His head snaps into my direction. I didn't mean to startle him. Anyway, this day seems to be the day of 'I didn't mean to'.

"Can I have five minutes with you?" I ask him. He nods and puts the book aside.

_**R.**_

Now I'm scared. What does he want? I'm sure now he's going to tell me why he's doing all of this. I'm sure he has some evil plan up on his mind. Nothing's for free not even people's friendliness and especially not their help. Help is an economical measure. Nowadays you can measure everything pecuniary.

_**C**_

I can see he's wary about me. I walk over to him and take a seat in one of the chairs.

"My wife used to tell me that the worst thing of being sick like that is the feeling of being useless: sitting or lying around the whole day without anything useful to do." I start the conversation. He throws a side glance at me, he still doesn't trust me. I haven't given him reasons for doing so yet, but I will.

"Well, I know how much your studies mean to you and this morning I could see how much it hurt you to serve a compulsory break on the sub bench, but I've made some phone calls. Seth's right. Berkeley is not far from here. So, if you want to, you can transfer from Harvard to Berkeley and go on with your studies."

"Thanks for your efforts, but…I think this exceeds my financial limit."

"Damn it Ryan, they're accepting your scholarship…don't you realise…that Colleges are looking for talents like you? I've seen some of your works and I can only pray to God that you later won't work for one of our competitors, because things would look seriously bad for us then." This boy doesn't have any self-esteem. Someone really needs to knock some sense into the genius creative head. Otherwise someone will exploit the fact that the boy doesn't believe a glimpse in himself.

_**R.**_

"Why would you do this?" I don't trust this man. Fact: trust has always been one of my so called issues, but it doesn't change the other fact that it never did me good when I trusted others too well.

_**C.**_

"Hell Ryan, can't you just for a moment think about that people might do you something good, that it's not always you who has to give and help someone? All of us want to help and support you, because we want to, because you mean something to us. Truth: hearing these words from me must be the strangest thing on earth for you, but please stop your skittish behaviour and start trusting us. Things will only get more difficult and exhausting otherwise." I look at him. For the first time I can look into his eyes and immediately I understand what must have caught my daughter's attention from the very beginning. No matter how thick the walls around the boy are – these eyes are like open water: open for everybody swimming and exploring the soul underneath these eyes.

"Think about it. I'd appreciate it if you'd accept my offer as well as the fact that we want to genuinely help."


	15. Chapter 13 Truth2

**_A/N:_** Thanks for the nice reviews and to my beta ParisAmy!

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_**1**__**3. Truth- **__is difficult to handle at times_

_**K.**_

"Sandy, I need…to talk to you." I say to my husband when he comes home from work in the evening. My son is at his Grandpa's. I'm glad that at least his relationship to Ryan seems to be healthy and unstrained. Ryan will need someone he can act naturally around.

"What's the matter?" My husband asks me cocking an eyebrow. The way I've asked made him realise that it was something serious. He's a lawyer, of course he realises when someone has to come up with something uncomfortable.

"I need you to do me a favour." I reply to him. I can't beat around the bush, without him noticing what this is about.

"You know, for you I would do everything." He says with a grin. I'm glad that the atmosphere until now is not strained at all.

"I need you to find Ryan's father." I spit it out. There was no other way of asking him.

"W…what? Why?" He asks me. His jaw drops. He looks as if he'd seen a ghost. What did I expect? That he'd agree just like that?

"I need you to find Ryan's father. It's urgent." I explain him. I don't want to go into details, although I know this is inevitable. I'll have to eventually. Maybe it's even better if I start now.

"Ryan's father? I mean…why…he's in jail, or not? Did he get released?" I can see his confusion and now I'll have to tell him that Frank isn't Ryan's father. Then I'll have to tell him how I know and when I reached the point of 'Trey told me', I'll have to explain to him why I was talking to Trey, and at the end I'll have to come up with the whole truth and that could make things very complicated.

"Frank he…he is not Ryan's father, at least not biologically." I tell him. His jaw drops again, this time even further, and in his face I see pure naked bewilderment. It's obvious that he didn't count on that news.

"What? How do you know that?" He asks me.

"Trey told me." I reply.

"When did you talk to Trey?"

"A week ago."

"A week ago? A week ago you'd been in Boston, because of a meeting, haven't you? You have…or? I meant you've been in Boston." He says. His face turns several shades of pale.

"Yes, I've been in Boston, but I wasn't there because of my job. The meeting…it was a lie." I answer honestly. I watch him grabbing for a chair and slumping down into it. In his face I can see how his brain eagerly tries to work out an explanation.

"But…why? Kirsten, tell me what's going on. You told me that you have to think about Ryan a lot lately, pressing me to tell you what has happened and now you're telling me that you've been talking to Trey. Are you searching for Ryan? Have you found a trace?"

"He's here." And now I fear my husband might suffer from a heart attack. He's grasping for air. I can see how his pulse rate must have increased, because the veins along his temples are pulsing.

"Well, not in this house, but he's in Newport. Listen: Seth stayed in contact with Ryan since he left. He knew all the time where he was. Ryan was in Boston. He had…has a scholarship for Harvard. His brother wrote a letter to Seth in which he stated that Ryan isn't feeling well. You know Ryan would never admit it to anyone. His brother had to do so and as I also was aware of that Ryan never would come back here on his own, my father and I…well my father rather than me…we…we made him to come back and …to accept help. We went there and came back with Ryan in tow." I give him the whole story of my last week's absence. My husband still doesn't look any calmer.

"What does it mean he doesn't feel well?" He asks me.

"He's sick." I reply. I want to leave this. Observing my husband's reaction I doubt it had been a good idea, telling him. He's furious and agitated. These news must have pulled a trigger, a trigger I didn't want to pull at all.

"Damn it Kirsten! You can't just drop such a bomb and then leave the most important facts unrevealed."

"He…has leukaemia. It was diagnosed seven months ago…and they didn't treat it correctly…and now…the cancer has already started to spread." My voice starts trembling. I had underestimated how much this situation would remind me of my mother. I didn't think it could have such an ice cold impact on me. I look at me husband. His face has gotten blank. He gets up.

"And how do you cope?" He asks me. He can read me. He always could.

"I want to help him,…but it's harder than I thought it was…and that's not only because he fights my caring tooth and nail." I let him know and then the inevitable happens. I feel tears stinging in my eyes. I try to blink them away. I have to blink them away. I want to be there for my son. I can't act like an emotional train wreck. I feel my husband's hand cupping me cheek, stroking it with his thumb. I look into his eyes and I see so much sympathy that I can't hold back and in the same moment the first tear slips through my walls, he holds me tight.

"We can make it." He tries to sooth me.

"How? He doesn't even allow me to help…it's a tough fight and I don't want to imagine what will happen when he finds out that I told you…sorry, but right now you're his red flag."

"Maybe when I go to him and talk to him, explain to him…that I didn't know what I was doing, he might understand that." My husband says and here it is.

"Sandy, I don't think you should see him now.

"What? Kirsten, I…I have to. I need to explain to him…"

"Give him time Sandy." I cut him off. "He's awfully shaken up. His sickness, being confronted with my Dad and me, with what has happened. He has to digest it first. Let me get him to trust me again…when I have him back and he trusts me, he might be ready for you." I create a plan, which might work for both of them: Ryan and Sandy.

"But…he…we used to share this special bond, I'm sure…"

"It's cut, this bond. Sandy, please trust me. I'm aware that I haven't been there for him for years, but I still consider myself as his mother and I think I might be able to get him to listen to me and later to you. I can approach this topic calmer and quieter than you."

"But I…"

"Sandy, you're totally shaken up by all of this. You need to calm down first. Wrap your head around what I've told you. I can't risk you being overruled by your emotions when you meet him first after so many years. Please Sandy. He won't be able to cope with you in your distraught behaviour." I tell him. I don't want him to put Ryan under any more pressure he's already under.

"He needs space for himself to rest. Give it to him." I say to him, rubbing his back. Now I'm the one comforting him.

"Do you think he'll ever be able to look straight into my face again?" My husband asks me.

"The question is, whether you'll be able to look straight into his face again." I ask back. He only shrugs his shoulders.

"I keep you up to date and I'll try to sort things out with him as fast and good as possible."

"And I'll try to track down Ryan's real father." My husband says, gives me a kiss and then disappears. He'll have to digest the whole story first and he'll take his time.

Later that day I go to my Dad's house to check on Ryan. I have a key so I just open the door and without greeting my father first I go upstairs. I open the door and find the room empty. Panic spreads through my whole body. Where's my son? The bed is neatly made and the bathroom looks as if it never has been used before. No, he can't have left. He ran. I should have thought about it. This is so Ryan. He runs when he doesn't feel comfortable and when the pressure becomes too much for him. I run downstairs into my Dad.

"Kiki, I didn't hear you coming in." He says.

"Where's Ryan?" I ask him hysterically. He was here all the time, he should have hindered him. He only feigned the nice man towards Ryan. I should have known it. God. I've been so blind and naive. Well, being naive seems to be my new hobby. How could I have been thinking that things would work out just like that?

"Kiki calm down and let me explain…"

"There's nothing to be explained. Ryan's sick and he ran while he was under your eyes, and you did nothing."

"Kiki…" I don't listen to him. I don't want to listen to him. Panic has made me blind. I need to get out of here. I need to find Ryan. He can't run. He's in no condition to make a living on his own. He needs help if he wants to fight this.

"There's nothing. What kind of game have you been playing with me during the whole time? Did you do all this only to keep me as part of your working force? You did, didn't you? And now you've been afraid I might neglect my job, because I have to take care of my sick son. Oh my God how could I've been so blind? You're an evil man and I allowed you to lull me."

"Kirsten!" He screams at me.


	16. 14 Relationships

**A/N.: Thanks for the nice reviews and to my Beta ParisAmy. I hope you still like the story**

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**14.**_**Relationships –**__only the strong ones survive the storm called 'Life'_

_**R.**_

I come back and I'm exhausted. Sure, I always used to being tired after a day full of lectures, but it had never been a physical exhaustion, but a mental one: when your head is so stuffed that nothing else fits into it anymore. Now not only my head complains about having had too much input, but also my body screams for relief and sleep.

"Hey Ryan, how was your day?" Kirsten is sitting at the kitchen table and looks at me.

"Uh…good…different, but good." I answer her. I still have trouble having casual conversations with her. It's not that I don't want to. I just can't. I still feel the tension between us. I know I can't keep the grudge for eternity. On the other hand I'm not ready yet to let it close.

"Tired now?"

"Yeah…sort of." I answer her. It's all so damn awkward. I would do everything if I could make this awkwardness go, but there's nothing. Well, forgiving could be a potential solution, but…I'm not ready for that. Accepting and trying to live with it is one thing, forgiving? It's too hard for me, especially because I know that after forgiving the next blow will hit me.

"Did you eat something?"She's in some strange hovering mode and I'm not sure whether I can take it. I have taken care of myself for long enough to know how to deal with my body and its physical failures.

"No…not really." I reply. It's not like I was hungry anyway.

"Shall I prepare you something – something that won't kill you?" The familiarity of this joke as long been gone. It doesn't have the effect of loosen up a strained atmosphere.

"No thanks, I'm really not hungry yet." I answer her. I want to lie down and have a few minutes of sleep.

"Alright, lie down then for a while. You know you have an appointment today?" She's driving me crazy. I didn't need a mother for years and now she pretends as if I was depending on a mother-figure. It's just wrong.

"I do." At least I was able to not think about my situation a few hours. This seems to have a soothing effect on my mind, because things don't seem to be too bad right now. Maybe I'm just too tired to think about the cruel reality.

"I'll wake you then."

_**K.**_

Ryan wasn't been happy that I woke him, but there I had no choice and he knew it and thus he climbed into the car without objections. Now we're on our way back and Ryan hasn't said any more words to me. He looks lost in thoughts. He seems to cope with the whole treatment or bunch of treatments better than I presumed he would. Nevertheless his silence is scaring me a bit.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask him curiously. He doesn't take his eyes off the window. I ask myself what he finds so fascinating about staring into the boring landscape. There's nothing more than dry sand and a little bit of coast. On the other hand he hasn't been here for so long. Maybe he sees changes I don't recognise. That might it be. Finally he looks at me.

_**R.**_

Shall I tell her? I'm not really sure whether this is such a good idea. On the other hand I'm tired of lying and avoiding. I'm tired of nearly everything lately so I shouldn't wonder about this. Right, my problem: I can't keep a grudge anyway. Otherwise I'd never talked a word to Trey or my Mom – never. It's awful. If people mean something to you, you basically allow them to treat you like they want to. You'll never be able to hold it against them for too long. At least I am not.

"Did you know that Marissa Cooper goes to Berkeley too?" I ask her finally. I have to admit that seeing her had been a strange feeling. Not that I still have feelings for her. My frustration about what she did, or didn't do has nullified every feeling which has been occupying me once.

"Uh…I think Julie mentioned it once, why? Did you meet her today?" I see some shades of concern washing over her face. I guess she has never been too happy about Marissa and me being a couple and in the retrospect I can't blame her.

"No, I only saw her."

"Did she see you too?"

"Uh…don't know, but if she did, I doubt that she'd recognised me. I barely recognise myself in the mirror lately."

"Don't worry about that. You're still the same young handsome man who came to us first. Maybe a little thinner, but we can change that." She's lying and she knows that.

"Yeah, and with a little less hair."

"Son, the bold head makes you more masculine." Mr. Nichole states from the driver seat. Great, that's what I've been looking for.

"Don't worry, it'll grow back." Kirsten replies.

I can only hope so. I'm sure whether I want to remain bold for the rest of my life. This sounds so ironic. Rest of my life. Who knows, probably I'm already heading to the finished line straight. And this sounds pathetic. I don't do self-pity. Honestly: it's a fucked up situation, if you have no clue whether you still have a few years ahead, or whether this is already the final episode. Of course I should think positive and think things will work out, but I'm a rational thinker. I don't believe in miracles and fact is: I need a miracle. I need a bone marrow donation. My brother's no match, my Mom won't be allowed, and I don't know who my Dad is, which means they have to find someone among the few voluntary healthy donors and this is statistically not going to happen.

"Are you hungry? You need to eat something." Kirsten asks.

"Uh…not really thank you."

"Ryan?" I don't like this mother-command-look on her face, and the tone in her voice neither.

"Kirsten, I'm tired." I let her know.

"No problem, you sit down on the couch in the living room and I'll bring you something to eat. No further debate. You'll eat." She determines and I have no energy to argue about this. It's sensless anyway. She's stubborn as hell.

"Don't worry Ryan, I won't allow Kirsten to enter the kitchen. We actually want you to keep the food." Mr. Nichole states.

"Lovely Dad."

"Ryan you know your place." I'm not in the mood for being social right now. I want to retreat into the room – my room and be left alone. Why doesn't she understand that I'm not someone who likes being hovered over? I'm not Seth and I'm not a puppy.

_**K.**_

"He still doesn't trust me." I tell my Dad when I join him in the kitchen.

"Give it a little more time. He just starts settling. Believe me when he has found his way around here, he'll be a little more trustful." He says to me while preparing lunch.

"Do you think so?"

"I do. No matter how tough this boy is. He's unable to hold a grudge, though." My father answers. I can't explain myself how he's able to read the boy after he tried to deny his entire existence at the beginning.

"What are you preparing?" I ask my father who's peeling potatoes.

"Mashed potatoes and a bit vegetable. That always soothed your Mom's stomach." He tells me. I look at him. For both of us this is some kind of trip into our past. It's like we live through our past a second time. The door bell ringing pulls me out of my thoughts.

"I'll get it." I say and go to open the door. I'm flabbergasted to see Marissa's huge and shiny smile in front of the door. I haven't spoken a word to her since…well at least since Ryan was gone.

"Marissa?" I ask her. I'm convinced she must have been mistakenly rang the bell of that house.

"Mrs. Cohen?" She exclaims me in the same astonished tone.

"Nice to see you. Are you looking for someone particularly?"

"Uh…well, I…I'm looking for…Ryan. I…saw him today at the campus…but I wasn't sure if it really has been him. He…has changed…in his appearance and…I asked Seth and he told me that he's here." She answers. After Ryan had left, Seth had stopped talking to her. He had been mad at her, but never came up with a reason.

"Uh…yes, he's here." I answer. I'm not sure whether I want her to meet Ryan. He didn't seem to be too happy when he broke the topic.

"Can…I talk to him?"

"Uh…I'm not sure. He's currently not well. I'll ask him. Can you wait here for a second?" She nods and then I leave her in the hallway. I go to Ryan who has made himself comfortable on the couch, watching some TV.

"Hey…uhm…Marissa's there. Are you up to talk to her, or do you want me to send her home?" I ask him.

"Ryan?" I can see him thinking, trying to make a decision. "If you want me to…I can…"

"No…It's okay."

"Okay, I send her to you and then give you some privacy." I answer him. I can only guess that there was even a tension between the both of them. Well, this shouldn't astonish me. There used to be a tension between the two of them all the time. Somehow there was always some degree of harmony missing between them. I don't want to blame Marissa entirely for this. I know that Ryan was never talking about what was going on in his mind or his past or anything related to his emotions, and I can understand that this is in some way an obstacle for a relationship. Nevertheless her selfish behaviour and actions didn't help it. It was as if she forced Ryan to keep the distance of not talking between the two of them. She engaged in excessively drinking, albeit she knew about his mother's alcoholism. She overdosed – out of some stupid reason called a cheating boyfriend – and Ryan had to carry the can of responsibility for it. It had been Ryan who had to rescue her from her mother, and it had been him who always stood in between them: always being the reason for a fight and always her reason to show Julie that she hadn't a say in her daughter's life anymore.

"He wants to see you, but don't wear him out. He's already tired." I warn her. This is my mother's instinct. I have to make clear to her that I'll watch her and that I won't allow her to hurt him.

"Oh…okay." Didn't she recognise that he was sick, or did she pretend not to notice?

I watch Ryan, how he puts on a mask. He surely doesn't want Marissa to see how sick he really is. He's hiding himself. I've seen this façade all too often when she has been around. It was like him pulling up thick brick walls. He never gave her permission looking behind them.

_**R.**_

"Hey, haven't seen you for a while." She says and sits down in the sofa in front of me.

"Haven't been here for quite a while." A strange feeling overwhelms me. Guilt or shame? Have I left her? Somehow I did, but the question is whether we'd still been a couple then and that's the point I doubt.

"You didn't say that you were leaving. When I came by one day, Seth told me you ran." She says and I don't want to hear the reproaching tone in her voice.

"It's not like you've had time for listening to me back then." I answer her, bracing my voice to let it sound calm.

"Pff, you and talking?

"Yeah right…"

_It had been one of these nights in which Kirsten has been heavily drinking. Seth had found her passed out on the couch, the glass of vodka still tangling in her hand. I'll never forget the expression of fear and panic in his eyes. It was crying for help, it was confused, and it was struggling to believe that his family was falling apart, although he was aware it was._

"_Is this bad? It's bad, is it? I mean…your Mom…did this happen to her too? This is not good, no not…it's not good. This…"_

"_Seth calm down. You're right this is not and good, and yes, my Mom happened to pass out like this too, but this doesn't mean the end of the world. I promise things will be alright again. This…is like an up and down ride in a rollercoaster. There are good days and bad ones, and I'm sure there soon will be a good one again." I told him to comfort him. Fact: I've never been talking that much in a life time as I did in that period of time, and I've never revealed so many things of my past either._

"_And…what now? I mean, we can't leave her here, can't we? Or…maybe we should. If she realises that the couch is not really neck supporting she might think about …you know what and then…maybe she'll stop, or? This is an option?"His nerves were fried. He used to talk a lot when his nerves were on the edge._

"_Unfortunately not. I'll bring her to bed." I said and went over to her, placing her skinny body in my arms. She'd lost wait due to the alcoholism. It ate her up. It was the same as it had been with my Mom. First it's only one glass of wine a day. Then two and soon a bottle and when it's not enough they start with the hard stuff. A drink instead of a meal becomes their motto and that's the point on which they slowly start to faint. I didn't tell Seth. I didn't want to scare him. Though the signs had been alarming and I knew I had to get someone believe me and get Kirsten the help she needed._

_That day Sandy came home earlier than usually. I'd been preparing dinner. Out of some reason they had stopped ordering take out. I was the last one complaining about it, although I' d been in charge of the kitchen duties. Sometimes Seth helped me, but in general he was indulged in his comic books, escaping from the reality that hit him every time he entered this house._

"_Hey Ryan, where's Seth?" He asked when he entered the kitchen._

"_He's, upstairs in his room, I guess." I answered him. As soon as Sandy entered the house those days, I had the feeling I wanted to run. With every passing day I found it harder to share the room with him._

"_Seems like he's retreating more and more lately." He said with a concerned face and I had to brace myself not the burst into snide laughter. This sentence came out so innocent that he nearly made me believe it._

"_I don't blame him." I only answered. I was driving the road of provocation and I knew hell well that I wasn't quite in the position for doing so. On the other hand, I didn't know how else to make anyone see that everything was getting out of hand._

"_How do I have to understand this?" Again this innocence. Sometimes I felt the need to slap his face._

"_He found his Mom passed out on the couch in the living room, a glass of vodka still in her hand." I answered him in the same innocent way._

"_Seems as if she had a hard day."_

"_Yeah, drinking and passing out is such a hard job." I replied. It was disgusting how the man who never turned his back, now turned it towards his own wife – his family. I was disgusted to see how easily he could forget his own maxims, by the only thread of his reputation – their reputation._

"_Be careful with what you're saying young man. You're in no position of talking like that to me."His voice was steely, but I got used to it as it had been like that a lot lately._

"_Sorry, but I can't pretend as if everything was fine, although nothing is." I responded to him._

"_If I was you, I'd stop talking like that or your ass is out on the streets faster than you can say sorry."_

"_Yeah whatever, you wouldn't be the first one." I replied throwing the kitchen towel onto the kitchen counter. "Dinner's ready."I added and then went to the front door. I had to get out of that mad house._

"_Where do you think you're going?" He asked me._

"_Out."_

"_We're still a family and that means we're having dinner together."This made the rage inside of me only boil further. If someone had asked me a few months before, I'd said that I could never believe __that Sandy was a man of denial, but his behaviour made my anger reach a whole new level of frustration. I was so damn close to exploding. I didn't want to, that was the reason why I had to actually leave the house._

"_Nice family: mother an alcoholic, father a workaholic and the child left alone in the centre of the shit." I answered. I had long ago stopped considering myself as part of the family. For Sandy and Kirsten I was nothing more than a housekeeper, cook and punching bag. For Seth? For Seth I was some kind of life buoy: the only thing that kept him afloat in this stream of chaos we got drowned in._

"_Ryan, you're not going anywhere…"_

"_Then stop me." I couldn't hide the exhaustion in my voice. I was sick and tired of all of this. I wanted to get some peace. In fact I had been in the need of someone to talk to. Who had thought that I'd feel like that? Actually this wasn't such a rare thing. When things in Chino got too much I had the feeling too, and I went to Theresa. She usually listened to the few words I said and she could make up the rest in her mind. Where to go when you desperately need someone to talk to and a shoulder to lean onto? I was stupid enough to think that my girlfriend – Marissa – was the right place to go. At least we went already through enough. She would understand. That's what I thought._

_I rang the bell of the house and waited for the door to open. I should've called before. _

"_Hey Ryan, what are you doing here?" She asked astonished to see me._

"_Uh…I wanted to see you…" I was taken aback by her reaction._

"_Uh…yes, sure…but…you should've called before. It's kinda bad right now." She answered. It felt like a slap directly into my face._

"_Oh…okay…how about later? I…really need to talk to you…live at the Cohen's isn't really peachy right now…it's…really crap now…I…"_

"_Ryan, I can't. My Dad is here and he'll leave in a few days again and you know how much he means to me. Who knows when I'll see him again?" I knew what he meant to her, but I wasn't quite sure about my status._

""_Oh…okay. Then, have a nice evening. Enjoy the time with your Dad." Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have given her a piece of my mind, maybe she had understood, maybe not. _

"_Thanks, I'll call you." She said and gave me a quick kiss and then closed the door. This kiss was definitely a lie. The whole Cohen household was a lie. I stood there for a while, not sure whether I wanted to break into tears, because of the pain the forlornness of the situation caused, or whether I wanted to batter the next tree into pieces. That night I decided to go to a bar in one of the dark and obscure areas at the end of Newport. The bar was a dark and dirty hole, but nobody wanted to see my ID when I ordered a beer. The bar smelled like sweat and blood, and it was loud from people screaming and stomping. I watched the two men fighting in the cage in the middle of the bar. I felt a twitch. I tried to ignore it, but it felt like a good idea. I had to vent my anger and pain, if I wanted to stay in service for Seth and his not-family._

"_You're interested?" The bartender asked._

"_Sort of." I answered. He nodded._

"_Hey Jack, this kid is interested." Another man came towards me and looked down on me._

"_When you're up to it you could be the next. This guy there is waiting for a match." He said and pointed into the direction of a bull of a man._

"_Deal." And then I stood in the centre of the cage. Blood and sweat running down my body, muscles aching, breath and pulse pacing up speed, and my heart pounding hard against me chest as if it wanted to break out of my ribcage. Every punch I landed at the other man's face relieved the anger. Every punch I took, every cut released some of the pain. It was some kind of therapy and I even got paid._

_When I got back to the pool house Seth sat on the bed waiting for me._

"_Where…Ryan, what happened to your face? Where have you been?"_

"_Just…out…nothing."_

"_This doesn't look like nothing."_

"_Seth, I have my methods to deal with things, okay?" He understood and only nodded. "Have you been waiting here for me the whole evening?"_

"_Yes, I wanted…not that you get this wrong or something…I'm in no way interested in you…well I am, but not in a sexual meaning of being interested. I'm not feeling attracted by you, although you don't look bad, beside the bruises of course…"_

"_Seth, what do you want?"_

"_Can I sleep here? I…can't stand it inside of there anymore." He answered._

"_No problem. Take the bed." I said and then went to the bathroom. That night I made it myself comfortable on the floor, as I did so many ongoing nights from then. I waited for her call or a text, in vain. I waited a few days. Nothing. My visits in the bar became more frequent._

"Why are you here?" I ask her.

"Answers. Where have you been? Why are you back? Why didn't you say a word to me?"

"I've been in Boston. I transferred from Harvard to Berkley. You didn't have time for me when I needed you the most." I answer every of her questions.

"And that's it. That was reason enough for just pissing off?"

_**K.**_

I'm hurt by the way she's talking to Ryan. I shouldn't eavesdrop. Is she really that ignorant? She's more alike her mother than she ever wants to admit: ignorant and self-absorbed, thinking everything is only turning around her. Otherwise she'd see that Ryan's sick; otherwise she'd been there when he had needed her. She never was. She demanded, but never gave anything back. Ryan had been her anchor, she had mooched on his kindness.

"If you've had a second for me then, you'd know the real reason for my leaving. But you never had time, you never asked. Shit…even Summer had been there for Seth…but…you've been…I actually don't know where you've been during all the time."

I'm astonished how calm he can stay, talking like this to his former girlfriend he had loved unconditionally and who in reward had let him down on one of his low points.

"But I've been there Ryan…you…only because I've been occupied the one time you decided to come to me and talk, doesn't mean I wasn't there. You could have come again."

"You said you'd call, you didn't."

"Hell Ryan, I forgot to. I'm only a human being as anyone else is, and human beings forget things. Don't tell me you never forgot something."

"This leads to nothing. Thanks for your visit."

"Now you throw me out? Just like that?"

"Marissa, I don't even know what you want from me."

"I…I dunno, I…it's just not fair that you blame me for everything. You were the one who pissed off just like that without a word. Did you even consider how I felt when I came here one day and Seth had to tell me that you ran? Did you ever consider how it might hurt me? No you didn't, because otherwise you would have stayed. So, don't blame me for not being there for you when you're not the slightest inch better than me."

"Yeah, you're right. It's all my fault."

"You're an asshole. You've changed and I don't think I like this new asshole attitude of yours." She replies frustrated and storms out of the room. I watched her and her harsh words made me flinch. She paces by. No, she's no different from Julie.

"Marissa?" I ask her in a quite tone. She turns around. Her face is drawn in fury.

"I let you out." I say. When we both stay outside I turn back to her. "You recognised that Ryan's sick and probably not in any shape for girly drama, did you?" I ask her.

"He…I mean he's…changed…though…I…"

"And the reason why he left was that the situation at our home had become unbearable for him and we didn't leave him another option than departing from here." I let her know. I won't allow her to blame Ryan for anything that had happened in that period of time. Without him, who knows whether I had gotten the help that I needed then.

"Don't blame him for anything. If there's someone to be blamed for, then it's us – me and Sandy. We are the ones to be blamed and even though I think that it's you who's to blame for him running without giving you a word. Summer was there for Seth, I know that. I might not have been myself during that time, but I recognised that Summer was there for Seth, but you weren't for Ryan. All the time while you've been a couple, Ryan was only occupied with rescuing you out of your own mess, being the bumper between you and your mother and sweeping up the pieces that you produced. You should be glad that he held on for so long with you." I see that tears are welling up in her eyes. She didn't change a bit.

"That's not true." She answers me and then runs away. Oh yes, it is true. Ryan always blamed himself for having brought so much trouble in our lives, but eventually it had been us causing him so much pain.

I go back into the house. I watch my father bringing a plate to where Ryan has been sitting, but he now comes towards us.

"Ryan?" I ask him. He has to eat something. He's already thin. He needs to try to keep his weight, at least.

"Sorry, I…I just wanna lie down. I don't feel too well." He says and then disappears upstairs.


	17. 15 Familiarity

**A/N.: Thanks to my wonderful Beta ParisAmy and for all those nice reviews. I apologise for updating unfrequently. I am really sorry !**

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**15 **_**Familiarity**_** – **_**is your anchor in times of a storm**_

_**K.**_

I'm sitting in one of the chairs in our bedroom and skim through a box of old photos. I'm not in a melancholic mood, but something caught my attention. I just don't know what it was. I spot an old photo from Sandy. He's still a little boy. He has had the same curly hair as Seth has now. I don't know where he left it. And his eyes. Huge and blue. They've changed their colour by the time. I haven't realised before. I sigh. There are so many things I haven't realised before. I've never realised how much Sandy and Ryan have actually in common. Both overly ambitious, both know how to talk – although Ryan doesn't talk a lot, what he says owns a lot of force, both always try to make the right things, both opt others over them, both would do and give everything for this family. The picture from our first Chrismukkah falls into my hands. Both of them have the same smile plastered on their faces. Ryan has the same dimples when he's smiling like Sandy and Seth. Probably everybody has those.

"A little bit melancholic this morning?" My husband asks me when he comes back from his surfing trip and finds me with our photo box on my knees.

"No, just…I dunno. How was surfing?" I ask him and give him a kiss. His lips taste salty from the sea and the air, and his hair is all wet.

"Was good." He answers

"Do you have any news about the whereabouts of Ryan's father?"

"Not yet. Though the PI has tracked down Dawn. I'll talk to her when she's decent and maybe I can get something out of her." He answers while he's disappearing in the bathroom.

"What do you mean with 'when she's decent'?" I ask him confused. I mean 'decent' really is not the right word to describe Dawn in any life situation.

"Well, she has had some problems: bad boy friend, drugs and alcohol. She's in rehab now and I hope I can visit her next week and talk to her about Ryan." He answers me. I hear the shower float.

"When do you think it's a good time for me to visit Ryan?" He asks. He asks me nearly every day since I told him that Ryan is back.

"Let me see how he is today. Maybe I can bring up the topic today. He has settled down a bit. Has his routine with his college life and…"

"College life?" He cuts me off and his head peeks from behind a half opened door. His face shows concern and astonishment at once.

"He can't stand to be sick at home. He wants to live as normal as possible as long as possible and we try to give him that. I know from my Mom that she had suffered under the situation of not being able to do anything and this state will come soon enough for Ryan." I tell him. This thought pierces my heart. The thought of Ryan…maybe not …I can't even think about that.

"And where does he go? I didn't know that you can start in the middle of the semester." He replies, while he starts his shaving ritual.

"Dad pulled some strings for him at Berkeley. It's good for him. He's made some friends, and he and Seth can spend some more time together. I think it does him good. It'll help him to cope and gives him something to fight for." I let him know.

"Your father? I thought he hated the boy."

"After what happened between the both of them…he has a high opinion of him. He changed his mind." I don't want to tell him that Ryan went to my father to make him help me. The idea that my father might not have come from his own efforts to this conclusion could destroy the whole good mood which prevails between my husband and my Dad.

"At least he doesn't give up." My husband says and then steps out of the bathroom to get dressed.

"I won't allow him to. Don't worry. I'll talk to him. And maybe…Seth can persuade him. They are very close to each other." I try to sooth his impatience.

_**S.**_

"So how was your day?" I ask Ryan. Honestly? The way he looks like, it's a miracle how my Mom allows him to leave the house. But I've witnessed his outburst, have seen his face – well that's usually blank – but I've seen his eyes and it had been clear that he was more than depressed about the fact that he couldn't go on with his studies. I've never met someone before who was so enthusiastic about them.

"Rough." He answers and takes a sip from his tea. He hates to be on a coffee withdrawal and he doesn't stop complaining about it, but I have to make sure that he isn't inflicting any damage to himself. I know that he's prone for that.

"You…look a little tired, I have to admit." I answer him. I think the situation is way too serious as if I could lie about anything. I only can hope that they can help him, because that Ryan isn't healthy is obvious – with each day more.

"Honestly? I am." He doesn't even try to hide, which is even more evidence for my concerns being right.

"Ryan, I don't want to go all parent on you, but please do me the favour and don't overdo it. This is not worth it risking…you know what." I can't say it out loud. It would make it too damn real.

"What's killing me is not me, but those fucking cells and the treatment."

"That bad?"

"I feel worse than I felt without it." I don't get it how something which is supposed to make him better, is actually making him worse. I don't understand the reasoning behind it.

"But…I…you're not giving up or something, are you?" I ask him. I'm afraid he might do so. I've never met him that unguarded as he is now. He's never been that honest towards me about how he really feels, physical and emotional. Our relationship has grown. We're mature and our relationship is too.

"Not yet." He sighs. I know that sometimes this seems for him to be the easiest solution and it's hard to convince him that it's not the better one though. It's like we're fighting his fight too.

"Do you have any more lectures or do you go home?"

"I'm finished for today."

"Great, that means: you and me and the Play Station. I'm sure you're out of shape." It's going to be like in old days. Well, old days haven't been good: like in pre-old days.

_**R.**_

"Yeah, would be cool but there's only one problem: I don't have a Play Station, not to mention any games." And I only feel like sleeping, but I can't tell him that. He would fly into worry. I follow him to his car. He had volunteered to be my driver, since Kirsten only 'allowed' the whole College-thing when I assure her that I'm not overstraining myself. Why do I permit her to behave like that? She's not my mother and…she still cares and I can't hold the grudge. She had made a mistake, but she also has gotten help and admitted the mistake. That's more my own Mom had ever done for me.

_When I left Newport I had nowhere to go, thus I decided to go back to Chino – back to my mother. She had moved into another area, but she still lived in Chino. I reached the house. It was as shabby and rotten as the previous one, but it was better than sleeping on the streets and it was comfortable though it lacked of nearly everything. I knocked on the door. She opened. She looked like a mess. She has had dark rings under her eyes and she had lost weight. Her hair stood into all directions and her make-up was smeared all over her face._ _She only wore a long t-shirt and the marks in the pit of her arm told me she was hooked up on drugs again._

"_Ryan? What do you want?" She sounded confused and pissed and everything else than happy to see me. _

"_I'm back Mom." I told her._

"_Why? What happened to those rich people?" She smirked._

"_It…things didn't work out and I…"_

"_Your face, what happened with it?" She asked. I still remember the feeling when my heart sunk into the bottom of my pants._

"_Did he do this to you? Your lawyer?" She asked and I was afraid to say or do anything, thus I just stood still._

"_Did they realise what you are? That you're nothing more than a burden and a mistake? And now you crawl back to your mommy? You can't always choose a new family when the old one doesn't suit you anymore." She hissed. I didn't know why she'd been so angry and what I had done to her to make her treat me like that. She'd never treated me different, but in that moment it hurt awfully. I couldn't remember that it had ever hurt so badly before. But I was in a shitty situation. I was alone and I was in the desperate need for someone – just someone. I wasn't seeking support or anything. I just wanted to be around someone. It's a strange feeling, but when you're living in a home full of people and yet feel lonely, you'll reach a spot where you just need someone._

"_But you dumped me there, like a pet you don't wanna take care of anymore." I snapped back at her. If I had had a choice then, I'd never chosen to stay with the Cohen's. This is the truth and not only some kind of feeling which developed when things got worse. Hell, I didn't know them. They were complete strangers. I had no idea what was going to happen. I was sure they would dump me in the next foster home or something. I couldn't trust them and that for months, because I didn't know them and I didn't know how to trust. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and that is tiring on the long run. That's why I gave up and started trusting them. It had been a huge mistake, I know it now._

"_Yeah, now it's all my fault. I don't wanna see you anymore. Not here, not now, never. I'm done with you." She said and then closed the door. I stood there, facing the cold door and processed in my head what just had happened. That moment I realised that there was nobody who wanted me around and that I was entirely alone. This is the worse feeling I know and it wasn't the first time I felt like that. I was thinking about of how often I could bear this feeling – better how long, because I didn't count on any rescue then._

_I walked around Chino, to find a place where I could stay overnight. There are no hotels or motels in Chino. You can hope for an empty and ruined building or a deserted street. That's all you can get._

"_Ry?" Someone called behind me. I knew the voice too well to be scared. I turned around and I felt relief to see a familiar face that I could be sure didn't want to kick my ass._

"_Arturo? What are you doing here?" I asked him. When I left he was still living with his family, what is at the other end of Chino._

"_I should ask the same." He said and then pulled me into a hug._

"_I didn't count on seeing you here any time soon." He said and then looked at me. "What happened to your face?" I turned away. The second time this question was asked, the second time that my heart felt like it was splintered into thousand of small sharp shards which stroked into my chest, making it painful to take a breath and keeping the tears uncried._

"_Don't tell me…shit man. They're not better than anyone else, what? Need a place to crash?" He asked me._

"_Yeah." I said._

"_Okay, I know where your brother lives. I'm sure as hell that he'll be glad to see you." He said, put and arm around my shoulder and then we walked together along the street, talking about the old days. The good thing is: in Chino nobody forces you to talk, if you don't want to. If you don't want to talk then you have nothing to say, easy and simple._

_We reached an apartment house. We had to climb up the stairs to the upper floor. Arturo knocked at a door. Nothing happened. Now Arturo slammed at the door._

"_Trey you fucking bitch, I know you're there so open the god damn fucking door!" He yelled. I heard a shuffled noise and then the door opened._

"_Shit man, I'm…Ryan?" I couldn't say anything. I just stood there and did nothing._

"_He needs a place to crash." Arturo said and entered the flat, squeezing passed Trey. I remained __outside. I felt insecure. I hadn't heard from him since…ages as it felt. _

"_Come on in Ry, I'm glad to see you." He said and then made space for me to enter the flat. It was small, chaotic and…well it was Trey's. I've never been there, but still it had something familiar and that had been what I needed. The Cohen's household seemed to be a stranger's home to me the last few months. I just needed something familiar. We sat together for quite a while and just talked about the time we spend together. Well, Arturo and Trey were talking and I just listened._

"_You don't want me to ask what happened to your face, do you?" He asked me when Arturo was gone and he tried to prepare a place to crash for me. I could have taken the floor, but Trey didn't want to hear any of that. _

"_They're not better than we are, Ryan. They only have some more money. I'm sure you can make it on your own. I think it'll be better for you. I can't offer you a lot, but I can offer you my support." He said. That's how I ended up with Trey again. He still was indulged in crimes, but I didn't care. We lived together to save the rent. I went to school, I had a job and I worked my hands to the bones and got a scholarship. When I decided to take it, I knew that I would take Trey with me. He had messed up quite badly around Chino and it wasn't a safe place for him to stay. So we both went off._

"Earth to Ryan, are you still with me?" Seth voice drags me out of my memories.

"Yeah…sorry, I just spaced out." I apologize.

"Well, here we have the full range of entertainment." Seth presents me the contents of his car's trunk: PlayStation together with a whole lot of games.

"That's great." I say. This time I lie. I had been looking forward to a hot shower and my bed. I couldn't tell Seth that.

_**S.**_

"Hey Ryan, you're late…Seth? What are you doing here?" Mom asks me when we enter the house.

"Well, Ryan and I decided to spend some time together, like we used to…before the whole trouble started."

"Okay, but first you'll eat."

"I'm not hungry." Ryan says.

"Doesn't count." My Mom says and then forces us to the table where we sit down and eat. Fact: there had been times in which Ryan ate two or even three servings and now he even fought with a half one.

"How was your day?" Mom asks us, while we're eating.

"Interesting, but lots of work though." I answer and then look to Ryan.

"Same here." He answers.

"Ryan, how many lectures do you have tomorrow?" Mom asks.

"Uh…one in the morning."

"That's good, because you have treatment."

"Yes, I know…shit."

"What?" I ask him.

"I have a presentation the day after and I don't know…"

"We'll see then." Mom cuts him off.

"Okay man, let's go and start our fight." I say and we both get up. I had to change the atmosphere.

"Seth, can I talk to you for a second?" Mom asks me. "You can go Ryan; it's just something I have to tell Seth." She says. Ryan shrugs his shoulders and then disappears. I feel like being caught eavesdropping.

"Don't wear him out. He's already awfully tired." Mom says.

"How do you know?" I ask her astonished. I've been together with him the whole afternoon already and he didn't seem too tired to me. Well, I can see that he is, but not that bad or?

"I can see it."


	18. 16 Longing

**A/N.:** Thanks for the nice reviews and to my Beta ParisAmy who again did an amazing job .D

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**16. **_**Longing – **__There are so many things you're longing for, but can't get_

_**K.**_

I go upstairs. I still have to talk to Ryan. I knock on the door but don't get an answer. I slowly open it a slight and peak in. He's not there. I fully open the door and see the room empty. Seth had left half an hour ago. I see the bathroom door is shut. I don't panic Ryan might have run. I would have noticed, Seth would have told me and I doubt that Ryan has enough strength left. It's three months now that he's here and he tries to brace himself, but I doubt he'll be able to hang tight like this for much longer. Every day he comes home, he's more exhausted. I know how important his studies are to him and I understand him, but he loses his energy. I sit down on the bed and wait for him. My glance wanders around the room. Within the few months he's here he already accumulated an impressing amount of books. I never realised that he was such a passionate reader. It's not only a bunch of architecture or math related books. There are books about politics and science, along with Stephen King and Michael Crichton. Why did I never before realise how much he's interested in books? I could have introduced him into Sandy's holy collection of books, which contains all Stephen King and Michael Crichton have ever written. And politics he could find it all there. I sigh. I don't know what I've been doing all the time that I never recognised things like that. On the other hand Ryan always had been good at hiding. He'd always tried not to let us know too much about him, no matter how hard we pushed him for information. I sigh. How can I even dare to have maternal feelings for him when I don't even know what he likes and what not? I hope he isn't right about his accusations and what I feel is just the outcome of a bad conscience. I can't bear this thought. The bathroom door opens and Ryan steps out. He's dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt. The pants fit slackly around his legs. It feels as if he loses weight within seconds. His eyes seem to be bigger than they used to be and their colour seems to be even more intensive.

"Hey." He says when he spots me.

"Hey yourself. How are you feeling?" I ask him.

"Tired. Guess I'll have an early night."

"I don't want to hinder you, but can I talk to you first?" .

"Sandy knows that you're here and…I had to tell him eventually."

_**R.**_

Oh shit. I knew it would be bad, but this is even worse than bad. It's really bad.

"He…since he knows that you're here he asks me whether he can come and see you."She tells me.

"I know what has happened between you and him. I know this isn't easy for you to handle, but you have to face him one day." I understand the words, but I don't get her point at all. I close my eyes and rubs them with the palms of my hands.

"You know? What the fuck do you know?" I'm in rage again. She starts talking, as if she knew everything again. But truth is: she knows nothing.

"Ryan, this is not a reason for becoming angry at me."

"Yes, it is. Because you say you know everything, but you know nothing. You have no idea how it is, when the person who you looked up to and who promised you things will be different, turns out to be just like one of those brutal assholes himself – forgetting all his maxims he made you believe in." I scream at her. I hate it if people tell me they knew. I've heard it so often: I know this must be... and in real? They knew nothing.

"Ryan, calm down. I…didn't intend to offend you. I only wanted to ask whether you're ready for facing Sandy." Will I ever be ready for that? I doubt it. The thing is: it's not that I don't want to forgive. The problem is that what has happened has shaken me up way too hard as if I could trust even a peaceful second. If I'd have to see him again, I'd be sitting and waiting for the next blow out.

"For you things are always so damn fucking easy." Why can't she accept that things aren't easy?

"I don't say they're easy, but one day you'll have to face Sandy eventually. You can't run away from him forever."

"Only because I let you be part of this, it doesn't mean that everything is okay."

"Ryan, what is this about?" She starts digging. Great. She wants to know what's wrong? She's acting annoyingly. I can't stand it when someone goes all investigator on me.

"Tell me Ryan, what's bothering you that such a small question sets you off like that?" She asks again.

Right. This reaction was a little inappropriate, but currently my nerves are over-fried. I can't change it. I'm just…I have no explanation to myself. It's just awful. Everybody comes here and wants me to pretend as if nothing has happened, and that's just not true. A lot had happened, they just don't know and I can't tell them. Too much time passed by without taking part in each others' lives.

"Ryan, talk to me." I drop down in a chair across from her, taking a deep breath. Somehow I have to give her something, but I can't tell what to give her.

"It's …like…I dunno, since I'm here everyone acts as if nothing has happened, and when I can't do so…they blame me…for nearly everything."

"That's not true Ryan. The only one who's blaming you is Marissa, but you shouldn't take this seriously, because she has enough on her own plate to answer for. And we? We're just living our lives and probably it didn't change much from before. The only one's life that had changed dramatically was yours and I feel sorry for it. But you can't reproach us for having gone on with the lives we were living. And if you don't feel ready for facing Sandy yet, it's okay, but it's no reason for yelling at me. And one more thing: you'll have to face him sooner or later and it's never going to be easy, but everybody deserves a second chance." The famous second chance, as if this was the remedy for everything. Only people like Kirsten are able to talk about them as if they were a great gesture. In reality they are just a bunch of wasted words, because nobody ever is making a good use of his second chance.

"And another one, and another one." I only answer her. Second chances. How often do I have to listen to this? I can't even count how many chances I gave my Mom.. Trey and my Dad. And does the fact that I let Sandy treat me like a dog for months count at all? I'm no fucking saint.

"I don't know what's wrong with you lately. Every time I want to talk to you I meet your frustration. I thought we were over this." Maybe she should change the topics or her measure of approaching me with such issues. I watch her leaving me, closing the door behind her.

Well done, and I'm sitting here again as the lone-asshole. Awesome. That much about an early night. Now I'll lie in bed tossing and turning and thinking of what the fuck I've done wrong again, and why I'm incapable of explaining myself. These must be the thoughts of an infant: how to make my parents understand what I want. I feel how the anger inside of me starts boiling again. Hatred. Anger. Hatred. Anger. That's all right now that I can feel and I can't explain where these feelings come from. In a sudden I'm totally pissed off by the situation. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be patronized by Kirsten anymore. I don't want to have to explain my motives. I don't want to have all these fucking treatments. I don't want any pills. I want my autonomy back, my old life: with Trey in Boston. I don't want to dance after their music. They didn't care whether I did for years and now it suddenly matters again? I can't. I…just…can't.

I go back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I take a look into the mirror and there it is: the cause of the problem. The one who can't forgive, the one who can't give second chances, the one who can't forget, the one who can't control himself, the one who's nothing more but a remaining shell of what he once had been. I can't see this face anymore. In a wave of anger I smack my fist into the mirror, which immediately breaks into pieces. When I pull back my fist my knuckles are covered with blood and shards of glass are still sticking in it. I don't mind the pain. Suits me right. It's again me who causes so much pain and trouble and I count the days until they grow tired of me like all the rest. I hold the hand under cold water and wait until the bleeding stops. I watch the water meeting the blood and then pouring into a whirl. It should stop bleeding. I don't know how long I stand there, but slowly a feeling of panic crawls up my spine. It doesn't stop. Shit. I grab a towel and wrap it around my hand. I'll pay them back. It's not like the bill is already high enough. A towel won't hurt. I wrap it tight and then search through the cabinet above the sink for some gaze or band aid. Nothing. Great. I stare at the towel. What now? I'll have to go downstairs, ask for gaze and explain myself. Shit. I walk out of the bathroom. I hesitate. I don't want to go there. Definitely not. This was only one more proof for me being bonkers. Maybe somewhere…shit. A wave of dizziness hits me. Well, that means I shouldn't hesitate. I walk over to the door and as I reach for the knob as the door swings open.

"Ryan I wanted to ask whether you want to have some dinner. Were you already on your way downstairs?" Mr. Nichol asks me when he sees me staying in front of the door. I can only nod.

"Oh…then…what happened to your hand?" The second question. And now it's going to be funny: Sorry, I thought it was fun smashing the mirror with my bare fist, I hope you don't mind.

_**C.**_

The boy looks like a deer caught in the headlights. What's wrong with him? He can't tell me that he's still afraid of me, can he? I thought we were over with this.

"Has this something to do with the shattering noise that came from up here?" I ask him, casting a glance at the towel wrapped around his hand. He shrugs his shoulders in indifference.

"As I don't see any damage here, I assume the mirror in the bathroom?" I ask the boy. Something about him is scaring me, but I don't know what it is. Maybe his silence. Well, I shouldn't be scared by that, as he never talks a lot, though.

"I never thought of you as the stereotype boy, but okay. Let me see your hand." He doesn't make a make a move. He stands in the room like frozen to his tracks.

"Hell, boy! Don't be so skittish." I say and grab his hand and unwrap the towel. "Oh this doesn't look good." Is the only thing I can say. The blood pours out of the cuts like water out of the tap.

"I think we should bring you to the ER. I doubt that this will stop from its own." I tell him. My wife once cut her finger and it didn't stop bleeding, until we went to the ER. His blood is too thin as if it could clot.

"I don't need to…" I want to protest.

"No debates about that. You've gotten yourself into this." I demand and then I put and arm around his shoulder and guide him out of the room.

Now my daughter and I are waiting in the waiting area of the hospital.

"How could this happen, Dad? What's wrong with him lately? He's not himself. His mood swings. I don't know how to handle him anymore. He's not the Ryan I knew."

"Kiki, he's a kid and nothing to handle. And maybe he only needs some space. Since you got him here, you're hovering over him. I can understand him. After three years of nothing."

"What do you mean?" God damn it, how can my own smart daughter be that blind?

"What I mean is that nobody of you was looking for him, because if you did you would have found him. He didn't hide. Damn it, you hurt him and I doubt that this is something that can be solved on the short run. Kirsten, he is not stupid. He knows what's going on with him and the treatment and added to that this stress, maybe you should just leave him be, and maybe the idea of bringing him back wasn't as smart as we thought it was. The boy is hurting, with every single day a little more. He doesn't need your reproaches, but your support and understanding." I try to knock some sense into my daughter's head. I can understand that this behaviour is annoying, but he's caught in an annoying situation. It's only natural that he acts sensitive to everything and everyone.

The doctor passes us.

"How's Ryan doing?" My daughter asks him. It is the same who treated Ryan, when he was admitted to hospital the first time.

"Physically he's alright. I'm more concerned about his mental condition."

"What do you mean?" My daughter asks.

"Mrs. Cohen, if someone punches a mirror with his bare fist in such a condition it is an alerting symptom for: nothing is alright."

"The boy goes through a rough time and not only because of his illness." I step in.

"Might be, but you better get him dealing with it. I don't want to have him locked up until this ordeal is over either way." I see my daughter grasping for air.

"When can we take him home?" I ask further.

"I want to keep him overnight for observation. You can take him home tomorrow after the treatment." He says and then disappears. Kirsten starts storming towards the room the doctor came from. I grab her shoulder and hold her back.

"I have to see Ryan." She snaps at me.

"No, Kirsten. Give him some space. He needs his rest. Let me go, okay?" I go to the room. Ryan sits up in bed. His facial expression is anything else than happy.

"Hey boy. Well, nice little mess you got yourself in." I start the conversation. I don't expect an answer. I'm sure as hell, he won't talk to me. He stays mute, but watches me with wary eyes.

"Okay, I have to talk to you and I want you to listen carefully, because it's serious and unless you don't want to be locked up in one of those cosy soft-wall cells, you'll listen and take it to heart what I have to say." I have to make him listen and actually understand. It's awful to witness him on his way on this downward spiral.

"I won't say that I understand what you're going through, the only thing is that I can imagine that this must be kinda weird. Three years nobody seems to give a shit about you and then they pop up at your door and want you to be their son and let them lavish you with all their love and care. Honestly, if it was me in your position, I'd felt pissed as well, because it seems to be a lie, and these months which must have been a trip to hell and back for you, as you already had the pleasure to live with an alcoholic mother in a broken home. You already lived in a family in which nobody ever took an interest in how you felt about it, and they took everything you did as granted. Fact: it had been the same old shit, just in a rich environment. And now you're back and they beg you for forgiveness and are eager to show you that you mean something to them, but you can't. Something got damaged during all this time and you need time to heal and to think over these things. You have to learn how to trust them from scratch, and believe me although I don't understand it, it's understandable. But Ryan, you have to brace yourself. You can't lose it. Look what you have. You're a gifted boy and everybody would want what you have. Don't risk it. Maybe you can't make full use of what you have now, but soon you can. You have something to look forward to, so brace yourself and sit tight." I finish my lecture and what I meet is a blank face – emotionless. I should have known that this is not going to work. Our eyes lock for a second. Not emotionless. Fear and sadness, desperation and doubt is written in them and now I understand why my daughter always paid so much attention to his eyes, because they were the holes to his soul which told you everything.

"And for God's sake, let my daughter take care of you and let her help sorting things out which had happened. She's driving me insane with her mother-instincts and – duties, and she's not as productive as she used to be and I need her full attention, one hundred percent." I add. This came as a joke, but is bloody truth. I can't stand my daughter in this mood. It's awful.

"Okay, I hope you've listened, and now get some rest." I say and get up and leave him alone.

_**R.**_

When I'm sure he's gone I roll on my side, curl together as small as I can and start crying. Great. Nineteen years old and crying like a baby. I can't help it. It's just too much for me: the fear of not knowing how this might end, the fear of letting Kirsten too close and the longing for her being my mother again. The fear of having to face Sandy and the longing for the father he had been once. The fear of permitting them fixing what had happened and the longing for the caring and supportive family they were and would be, if I just let them. But I can't. It's tearing at my heart and I want to rip my soul out. I desperately want them to be my family again, to be there and take care. I want Kirsten to take me into her arms and I want to listen to Sandy's lectures about optimism, but I can't. I'm blocked. I'm blocked by my fears of how much pain and damage they can cause, if I let them. Things would go back to the worst again.

I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to be hurt either; and you'll get hurt if you let other people into your life. I just don't know what to do. I don't know.


	19. 17 Can't

**A/N.: **Thanks a lot to my Beta ParisAmy and for all the nice reviews. Sorry for the late update

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_**17.**__**Can't**__- we can't make the past undone_

_**K.**_

I sit next to Ryan in the car and I can tell, this time he didn't tolerate the treatment as he used to. I can make out only fast shallow breaths, although he eagerly tries to concentrate on his breathing, and he's paler than he used to. He's trembling awfully and his skin is cold and clammy. It rips my heart into pieces having to see him like this. My father throws concerned looks into the rear mirror.

"We're home soon." I tell him and rub his upper arm in assurance.

_**R.**_

At least she doesn't ask me how I feel. I've never felt bad like that. I don't know, but this seems to be wrong and it scares me. I don't have anything under control. I try to control my breathing, I can't. I try to control my trembling, I can't. And hell I try not to puke into this car and if I can't, it's going to be fucking embarrassing. I just wanna go to bed and hide under the covers, hoping they can keep me warm, because this jacket definitely doesn't. I already feel the bail climbing up my throat. Oh no. I swallow thickly.

_**K.**_

"Are you sick?" I ask him. He doesn't look good at all and that starts to worry me. This is not good and I know that this reaction might be a significant sign for: it can only get worse from here. I don't want it to get worse. I want Ryan to be able to go on with his studies. I don't want to see him sitting depressed in the house or even in bed all day. I can't see him unhappy. He must have been unhappy for so many years, not speaking about those he after left us – I don't dare to say he can't be happy without us -, but about those he hadn't even known us. He needs something that keeps him going; something that keeps him from giving up.

"Ryan we're there soon, just take deep breathes." I try to help him.

When we arrive in the driveway Ryan slowly gets out of the car, but can't seem to move forward. He's leaning against the car. I'm afraid he might collapse right there, because he's so fragile right now.

"Ryan, do you …need help?" I ask him. He only nods. I take a deep breath. I didn't want things to turn out like that, not yet and at best never. I take his arm and we slowly make our way to the house. Suddenly Ryan stops.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, but his body breaks out into violent convulsions and heaves. I hold him by his upper arm. I'm afraid he might tip over.

"S…Sorry." He says in between awful heaves.

"'s okay. Just take deep breaths." I tell him. He hadn't had much for breakfast and he had left out dinner the evening before. There is not much for his stomach to get rid of. It's only the retching and nausea. I gently rub his back in circles. He's not a little boy anymore, but I need to do this for him to calm down and for me to be able to do at least something – to show him I'm there. When he struggles back into an upright position I hand him a tissue so he can wipe his mouth.

"Sorry, I'll clean it up, promised." I see the humiliation washing all over his face – his entire body. I don't want to imagine what inner turmoil this had set up in his mind. Ryan, who is always concerned about being in full control of himself and his body had lost it and to make it worse, he even lost it in front of me.

"Don't worry kid. We take care of that. That's nothing water and soap won't solve." My father says putting a hand on Ryan's back and guiding him inside.

"Do you think you have enough energy to make it upstairs?" I ask him. He nods and then starts to climb the stairs. I'm close behind him in case he might fall so that I can catch him. When he enters the room he immediately heads for the bed and drops down.

"Don't you want to change first?" I ask him. He only shakes his head. It hurts to see him like this: vulnerable and utterly exhausted.

_**R.**_

I never want to have to get up again. I just don't feel good. I'm exhausted, I have a headache, my stomach had started its own rebellion, and I just can't seem to get my body under control. I'm frustrated. I don't want to be weak. That's not me. I want to get up and beat the fucking walls out of this room, but my limps are too heavy. This is so not good. This is not the way things were supposed to be. I can't do this. I can't cope with this situation. It's…too much. I can't handle this. Shit, I puked into the front yard under the eyes of Kirsten and her father. This is enough to know that I can't handle this situation. Worst of all is the feeling of humiliation. I mean, what's this? I can't walk, I can't eat - I can't do anything without help. Where's my autonomy? My independence, my autonomy was all I had left. What do I have now? Nothing. The realisation that I have to let Kirsten help me if I want to make it through this, hits me like a rock. I have no other choice. I can't make it alone. I'm far over my limit and I can't exceed it any further.

"C'mon Ryan, get changed and I make your bed, okay?" She asks me. She's right. Sleeping in jeans isn't very comfortable. I take the sweatpants out of her hand and try to get up. I have to support my weight with my hands, but it doesn't help a lot. My arms are as weak as my legs. I have to clench my jaw for not screaming out the frustration which seems to increase with each day. I'd say I blame the wounds and cuts on my hand for that. Unfortunately the cuts weren't even deep enough for requiring stitches, and furthermore I didn't feel that bad last night.

"I'll help you." Kirsten reaches out for my hands. Great. Now I have to get help from a woman like Kirsten who's physical not more than a blow in the wind. This is not really helpful with my anger management – or better: management of frustration.

"Can you make it from here?" She asks me and I can only nod. I guess that every word I'd speak would come out wrong. I slowly make my way to the bathroom, not that I could be fast anyway. I have to sit down on the lid of the toilet to get changed. I can't hold my balance on one leg. I have the feeling as if every move hurts and this makes the whole changing-procedure taking ages. When I go back Kirsten has already pulled back the blankets. The blankets. Hell, it's California, it's not cold here. Unfortunately my body thinks differently. I still have goose bumps. I climb to bed. No, I don't feel too good. My heavy body sinks into the mattress. I try to focus the ceiling. Things seem to spin around and I feel dizzy. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My stomach hasn't settled yet. This is going to be funny. I feel how the blankets get lifter over my body.

_**K.**_

"Try to get some sleep, and when you need anything, we're there, okay?" I ask him. He looks so young and vulnerable. I'd stroke through his hair, but it's not there anymore and I'm afraid of insulting him if I'd stroke over his bare head. The only thing that remains is tucking his shivering body in, in the hope he'll feel better soon. Unfortunately I know that this hope won't become true in the close future.

I go back to my father. He's busy occupied in the kitchen.

"What you're making?" I ask him and help myself to a cup of coffee.

"Mashed potatoes. The boy will have to eat something today." He answers. I nod.

"You used to make mashed potatoes for Mom. She never could have enough of that." I answer him.

"She tolerated it." He answers dryly. He's lost in some thoughts, but doesn't let me in into his mind.

"What's on your mind?" I ask him.

"Honestly?" He asks me. "I thought I was over it, you know? Not that you can ever be over such a loss, but I thought I was able to cope with it, but I was wrong. Witnessing this all again brings up all these memories and…it still hurts. Lately I have to think so much about this time and I ask myself could I have done more? Could I've made her more comfortable? Could I have comforted her more? I…the whole ordeal she went through. I have the feeling as if I just stood there and watched her fading away. I couldn't do anything to help her. I couldn't make her feel better; I couldn't make her recover; I couldn't rescue her. And now? It's the same situation again. I can't do anything to help the situation." He confesses. I think this is the most personal conversation we've ever had. He has never before talked to me about such personal things. He used to keep his emotions under control and well hidden from me and my sister.

"That's not true Dad. You were there for her. You were there for her treatments. You prepared her dinner, so that she ate at least something. You were there when she felt worse than ever to hold her in your arms. You even skipped the one or other working day for her. And now you're doing more or less the same for Ryan: you cook for him, you talk to him, you take days off from the office. You try to help him. You tried to make Mom as comfortable as possible and that was all you could have done. There's no cure and you know that. And now we can only try to make Ryan as comfortable as we can. There's nothing else we can do. And believe me: I hate this situation as much as you do. I hated it then I can't bear it now, but we couldn't show Mom, because of her pride. If she'd known, she would have risked everything for taking the burden from us, and so would Ryan." I don't want my father blaming him for the past and how it has happened. As hard it is to bear, but this is nothing we can influence.

"It's just awful. He's so young. He went through hell and back and I guess that several times. It's not like he needs this on top of it."

"I know what you mean and you're right, but this is something nobody needs. Let's just try to be there for him as much as possible. We need to show him that he has no reason to play the tough guy in our presence. I think this is all we can do." I let him know.

"Did Sandy have any success?" He asks me.

"No, not yet. But he knows where Dawn is and he'll go and see her."

"And you think this woman will be of any help? The last thing I heard about her was that she's an alcoholic junkie. Not really reliable, if you ask me." He says and his voice is bitter. He's talking with so much disgust about this woman's fault that I start to feel ashamed again, for my failure.

"Dad…"

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Kiki. But you can't compare yourself with this woman. You got yourself help – for your boys and your husband. This woman abandons her son in order to pursue her lifestyle in which her own son is nothing more but a troublesome obstacle. Kiki, I never implied that you are in any way like her." My father says and takes me into his arms. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I've never seen him this emotional. This can't be my Dad.

"Okay, let's get the boy something to eat." He says and then focuses on his cooking again. I stay there and watch him.

He hands me a bowl when he's finished and I make my way back to Ryan. He's still curled up under the blankets. His body is still shivering, but despite it doesn't look as if he had moved at all.

"Hey, feeling any better?" I ask him when I put the tray on the nightstand and see these blue eyes focusing on me.

"Not really."

"It'll get over. Did you sleep at least a little bit?"

"No, not really."

"Your stomach?" I ask. I still know that his stomach is very sensitive. The time he was living here and I wasn't drunk, I realised whatever was bothering him impaired his appetite. He felt sick and stopped eating when he was upset or depressed or in any other bad mood; but the same could happen when he was overly happy. He got always problems with his stomach when he was getting a cold or the flue.

"Maybe this will help you." I tell him and point at the tray.

"I don't think I can keep it down."

"Maybe you'll do. My Mom used to keep it. She always felt a little better afterwards." I try to assure him.

"And if not?"

"You don't need to eat all of it, just try." I say nearly begging him.

_**R.**_

I sigh. I can't say no now. Just a little. Maybe she's right. Hell, I'd do everything to make my stomach settle again. She hands me the bowl and a spoon. The smell already makes my stomach throw loops. Not that it smells disgusting or something. It's just the smell of food. I try to ignore my protesting stomach and take the spoon. I feel Kirsten's glance on me. My hand is shaking, as my whole body is. I don't want her looking at me like that. I don't want to feel the glances of pity on me, and I don't want to give her the feeling of having to help me even more. I only look back at her, hoping she might get the hint: that I want some privacy. But she sits down on a chair.

_**K.**_

"Take your time." I tell him when he looks at me, trying to get me out of the room. I won't leave him. I watch him how he puts a small portion on the spoon. He's very hesitatingly. Throwing up in the front yard has made him even more insecure as he already was. He slowly chews and swallows. I can tell he's fighting a battle. While I can tell that he's heavily concentrating on his meal, I make use of the situation and try to approach the topic again.

"Did you think about what I asked you yesterday?" I ask him. I try to sound as innocent and patient as I can. Yesterday had shown me that this is a sore point for Ryan.

_**R.**_

"Kirsten…I…" I can't finish the sentence. Eating was no good idea. I throw the blankets away and get hit by wall of coldness, but I can't care right now. I already feel the bile coming up my throat. I want to get up, but as soon as I'm vertical the world around me starts spinning and blurring; my head starts pounding as if someone is treating it with a hammer, and my legs aren't really in a cooperative mood as well. Shit. My stomach starts rambling more and more, and I can feel I'm not far away from…shit. I try to hold myself at the wall. I can only come forward slowly. My body hurts awfully and feels like it's made of concrete. I don't want to puke on the carpet. I really don't want to. I can't bear any more humiliation. I feel her hand gripping my arm, but I pull it in a reflex I pull it away.

"Ryan, I only want to help you." I explain him.

"I…can…do it on my own." I don't want her help anymore. I can't be this charity case everyone feels obliged to participate in, anymore. I can't bear their bad conscience and their urge to fix everything. Especially not right now.

_**K.**_

"Ryan, stop it. You can't do this alone. You have to let me help! I'll help you now to the bathroom and you'll let me, because I don't think that you want to puke on the carpet." I determine what's going to happen. I'm harsh, maybe too harsh, but this is the only language he knows right now. Sad eyes meet with mine and I can see how reluctant he is to give up more and more of his autonomy and privacy and become dependent on us. It hurts: this look is pleading for a little more independence and privacy. I close the bathroom door and wait in the bedroom, to give the pleading at least a little way. I don't hear him retching. He's too private as if he would make any noise – that's the impression that I have.

I hear the flush and wait for Ryan to come out, but he doesn't.

"Ryan, are you okay?" I ask through the door, but I don't get an answer. "Okay, I'll open the door now, okay?" I tell him. I'm afraid he might get ready for taking a shower or something, but when I open the door I see that he's far away from that. He's curled up on the bathroom floor, shivering. He looks awfully pale.

"Oh sweetie." It slips out of my mouth. I kneel down to him and stroke over his cheek. His skin is cold and clammy.

"Okay, you can't lie here. It's too cold." I tell him. I want to help him sit up, but he refuses to move at all.

"Just …leave."

"Ryan you need to help me, I can't get you up on my own." I let him know. I start to panic a little. He's so unresponsive.

"Just leave me here for a while."

"Ryan, you have to…"

_**R..**_

"I can't!" I snap at her. It's not like this hard floor helps me to get rid of my body soreness. If I could I would, but I can't. I can't. I never thought I'd have to say these words once. This can only be a very bad joke. This can't be true, because _I can't_ means I need help; I have to depend on others and this is not going to happen. I won't let it happen. I've never been depending on others…okay, I have, but it never went well. Not with my mother and not with the Cohen's.

_**K.**_

"I go and get my Dad." I tell him. That's all I can say now. That's all I can do.

"Dad?" I run downstairs. Only now I realise that my heart is racing and that I'm close to panic.

"Dad?" I call out frantically.

"Kiki?" He says and then comes towards me. "What's wrong?" He asks me and takes my upper arms into a firm grip.

"Ryan…he's in the bathroom, on the floor and he can't get up, and…I'm not strong enough to get him back onto his feet." I explain him. I'm astonished by myself how calm I can stay in this situation. My father nods and then hurries upstairs. When we arrive, Ryan tries with all is strength to get onto his feet, holding tightly on the door of the shower cabinet. My father rushes over to him. He tries to support him, but Ryan refuses to let him - fighting his arms.

"Ryan, damn it. Let me help!" My father commands. I can only stand there and watch.

"I can make it." The statement of a boy who never had relied on anyone – never had been able to, because at the end they all disappointed and abandoned him: if not physically then psychologically.

"No, you can't. Not today. Tomorrow, yes but today, no." This is the first time I hear in my father's voice empathy. Empathy for a boy he had hated until death and now?

"Ryan, can you let me help you? Just today. Tomorrow you'll be on your own again." My father assures him. Reluctantly Ryan allows my father to put an arm around his waist to steady him.

"You determine the speed." My father says. I still see him doing this for Mom. At the end he had carried her: from the bed to the bathroom and back, into the living room, dining room, to the car. He would have carried her around the world if she had asked him to. He never would have said no.

"I'm no nursing case." I hear Ryan grumble.

"No, you're not and nobody implied it." My father answers. His patience. He reminds me of Sandy. The both of them they're not as different as they think they are: both have the heart on the right spot.

"Here we are." My father says, not letting off Ryan unto he's safely sitting on the bed.

"Thanks." Ryan says shyly.

"You're welcome. I leave you two alone again." My father says and then leaves.

_**R.**_

Humiliation number two. I don't need any more today. The fear of not having control over what is going to happen to me increases with every passing second. I can't control anything. It's completely out of my hands. I don't like it, if things are out of my hands. It means…that…oh no…this is making everything so fucking real: the illness, the treatment, the side effects and the possibility that…oh my God. I don't feel too good right now. Not only physically. Fact is: without Kirsten and her father I'd be fucked right now. Despite them, and Seth of course, I'd nobody who'd care. This is so mind twisting. They care about you, they give a shit about you, and then they care again. What am I supposed to …feel or think about this? It doesn't make any sense – not to me. Defeated I let myself fall on my side. My head is still pounding and my body feels sore and heavy. All of this doesn't make any sense. I've never been really sick. Okay once I had the flu, but that's it. This is surreal. I've always been able to take care of myself. Hell, I probably wouldn't be alive anymore if I hadn't. Why can't I now? This is not how my life goes. They deprived me of everything: of food and material possessing, of being a child and love. They hit and beat me, or hurt my in a non-physical way. I always could cope with it, because I could at least take care of myself, but now? I can't even take care of myself. I feel how Kirsten covers me with the blankets and then sits down on the edge of the bed, behind me.

"I know it always had been important for you to be independent, to be able to take care of yourself. I know we didn't give you the chance to leave this habit behind. I'm sorry I couldn't offer you the chance to rely on us. It's harsh to demand from you to do it now, but you can. I promise you, nobody will hurt you in any way and all of us – also Sandy – will be there for you. No matter what will happen. You know, Seth would say: we're having your back for as long as necessary."

"Saturday." If I want to believe Kirsten, I need to have the proof. I have to overcome my fears which are blocking me.

"What about Saturday?"

"Sandy, I…doubt I'll be decent enough for facing him tomorrow, but I think Saturday."

"Okay, why the sudden change?"

"You…You're right…I can't make this on my own, but…I'm afraid, and not…only of the cancer and the treatment, but…" I can't speak this sentence. I can't relieve my inner turmoil. I…can't. I can't handle this. This is too much. I can't. I feel how my fear and anxiety start to overwhelm me.

"You're afraid of letting us close again, right?" She finished my sentence – something I would have never been able to say out aloud and though I'm glad that she did.

_**K.**_

"Oh honey, I don't know how to help you there, despite telling you again and again that you don't have to be afraid. Not this time." I try to sooth him rubbing his back.

"That doesn't change anything." He nearly whispers and crawls deeper under the blankets. It hurts me and tears my heart into pieces seeing him like that.

_**R.**_

"It's like I can't think straight anymore. Maybe, it's better if I left." This is the only way out to get at least some relief. I can't live on with my emotions such a chaos. I can't deal with my body being out of control, but emotions out of control can have much more consequences, and no! I'm not going to cry in front of Kirsten. I had that yesterday night, in save solitude. I don't need to do this again. I'm old enough. I need to leave this place. Everything here fucks me up: physically and emotionally.

"Ryan, it's a normal reaction. We have disappointed you and hurt you; we broke our promise towards you. It's only natural that you feel like that now."

"Kirsten, you don't understand. I can't do this here."

"W…wait…Ryan, what is this here? First you tell me, you want to meet Sandy and now you want to leave? Did I miss a point?"

_**K.**_

"I told you, I can't think straight. There's just too much…I can't sort it out." I start to really worry now. I never heard Ryan admit that he has trouble with dealing with anything and I never have witnessed him this emotional.

"Okay Ryan. You'll stay here, definitely. I won't let you go and if I have to lock you up in this room. If you still want to meet Sandy, I'll let him know. If not, it's okay too. And for the rest, I'm here, Seth is, my father and Sandy too – when you let him – and we all try to make you able to trust and rely on us again. We'll do everything in the world to make this happen okay? You only have to cooperate a little." I tell him. Again his head only nods.

"Oh sweetie." I say and then put an arm around him. I swing my legs on the bed and try to embrace him with my whole body. I want him to realise that I'm there for him, one-hundred per cent. I place a kiss on his head. Small convulsions let me know that he's crying. I rock him, trying everything to make him feel better. He doesn't need the emotional pain added to the rest.

"We're there, honey. You don't have to do this alone, and I promise you for good that we won't leave you alone, we won't hurt you. You're safe for good."


	20. 18 Donor

_**A/N.: **_Thanks to my really fast beta ParisAmy and for the nice reviews. I'm sorry for updating that late, but lately I'm very busy studying the Spanish language. In five weeks I need to speak it properly :S

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_**18.**__**Donor –**_ _we're lacking of so much that there won't be enough donors to fill the gaps_

_**R.**_

I sit at the beach. It's early Saturday morning, but I decided that the beach is the best place. It's neutral and nobody is there. Mr. Nichol…Caleb had driven me here and then went to run some errands before picking me up again. I watch him surfing. From the far the plan doesn't seem to be too difficult from being implemented. The problem is that he has to come from the water to the beach: shorten the distance between us. And now he's coming. Inwardly I try to brace myself. I'm shaking and I know it's because my nerves are on the edge. Yesterday I already felt much better, so it can't be a side effect. I've been trying to prepare for this, but how to prepare for this meeting? I mean, I can't take into consideration the emotions I have to fight with…and yes, there are more emotions I thought that would face me. He comes up to me.

_**S.**_

"Ryan." I knew that he wanted to meet me today, but at this time? Shit. I didn't have any time to prepare for this meeting before. But hell I am glad to see him again, although he doesn't look good at all. He has lost weight and he's so pale that he's nearly not visible on the sand. He's wearing a base cap, but his boldness is obvious. I feel bad. This shouldn't be happening to him. Hell, I shouldn't meet him under these circumstances…because of them. I should've been looking for him earlier. I didn't and there's not need to drown in self-pity for it. It was and still is my fault, but I have to take the incentive to make things better, if I can't make them right. Oh my God, what did I do to him? He would have been safe during the whole time, if I'd braced myself. I never should've given him reason to flee, but I did, and how do I talk to him now? I can't just pretend as if nothing had happened. I also don't know how to behave after what has happened. I can't expect him to jump for joy at seeing me and I can't expect him to be open towards me.

_**R**_**.**

"Hey." Is all I can say. It's awkward seeing him again after three years and after what has happened. My emotions are chaos, but I don't feel any kind of hatred. Fear, because I don't know what he's capable of; sadness, because of the gap between us and because of what has caused this gap; disappointment, because he didn't keep his word, although I believed him; anger, because he made false promises and I let my guard down; frustration, because things are never going to be the same as they had been, no matter how bad I want them to be. I notice the tension between the two of us. I want to run. I can't. Not because I have to keep my promise and meet Sandy, I just can't. My heart is pounding under my chin and my body is tensed up. No, I don't like this situation. I feel like I'm caught. If something happens, I couldn't even defend myself, not even run away. Fuck. Stop. This is Sandy, he won't…he did, and it wasn't a drug or alcohol induced action.

_**S.**_

"You didn't let me know that you were coming." I tell him. I try to do some small talk, but I fail. Small talk is not possible between us anymore. Hell, I must have scared and hurt him – not only physically but also emotionally.

"Didn't want to give you time to prepare one of your lawyer speeches."

"Oh…Okay." I'm astonished by this. Ryan never used to be a strategic person. I take another step to close the gap between us.

"Could…could you…just stay there?" He asks me and I'm shocked when I see the fear in his eyes. He's afraid of me. I had never thought that this could happen one day, but I made it happen.

"Alright." Shit. I really messed this up. Ryan never tried to keep a distance between us before. Now I get an insight of how things must have been at his home. All on a distance, tension in the air, enduring fear and angst, pain and harm. Silence warps us up into her veil and I feel as if I get squeezed under its weight.

"Do you think you can ever forgive me?" I ask the question that was torturing me all over the past years.

_**R.**_

"This…is not only about forgiving. I…don't think I can ever trust you again…not after what happened that one night. Everything before that…I could deal with it, but not with that night." I could try to wrap this up into nicer words, but this wouldn't make the content any better and I want him to understand. Beating around the bush is no use in this situation, added to that I don't have the time for going it on slowly. I want to get this problem solved before…well, no I'm not ready yet to deal with this topic.

_**S.**_

"Ryan, I know there's nothing that can justify what I've done; not this evening nor anything of the whole lot of other things I did. But you know that I'm not one of those…who…" Used to use you continuously as vent for their aggressions back in Chino. I'm not your Mom or you Dad or any other of her boyfriends. Why can't you see that? I didn't mean what I was doing. I have no idea what the hell had gotten into me, but I swear I'm not one of those who'll go on hurting you again and again. I'll never lay hand on you again. I can't say these words. I can't say that I'm not one of those – although I'm quite sure I'm not yet – because for him I am. He has another view of things; a view shaped by violence and aggression.

"…who hurts you deliberately. If I had been myself back then, knowing what I was doing, I never had done so." I try to explain to myself.

"Sandy,… I've learnt one thing: there are two kinds of people. There are the junkies and alcoholics that hurt you when they need to satisfy their addiction or when they're been overdoing it. You can calculate them, because you know their behaviour pretty much depends on their substance abuse. You know it's the drugs or the alcohol that makes them mean, because when they're not edgy because of the need they don't do anything. People like my Mom who just can't control themselves, but when they won back the control show you, who they really are and that they actually didn't mean what they did.

Then there are those who hurt you just because they want to. They don't need alcohol or drugs. They just need to be pissed off and need to vent their anger. They see you and immediately know a reason for punishing you. These are people like…well…Frank. They see you when they come home and beat the shit out of you, although you haven't even said a word then. You can't calculate them. You're always afraid, always prepared for the next blow. They are uncontrollable, because their behaviour isn't hooked up on some drug. They are just evil.

And as I'm pretty much sure you haven't been on any substance in that time…you belong to this second type of person. You're uncontrollable and I don't know when the next blow will hit me, I'd always be prepared for it in your presence. That's why I can't trust you, and that's why I don't want to be around you. I just don't have the strength for that."

I'm overwhelmed by the monologue which just came from the boy. I've never heard him talk with so many words in a row, and I'm devastated by what he had said. Evil. I'm not evil. How can he say something like that? How can he lump me together with his fath…okay Frank? I never was like this man and will never be. I take care of my family. How can I make him believe me that this will never happen again? How can I explain him that I had no control over… Shit. This is what he wanted to tell me, right? I had no control of myself. I am uncontrollable in his sense. It seemed as if then everything had slipped out of my hand. My wife sought help in a bottle for god's sake and I couldn't do anything. I'd been paralyzed by the situation, unable to deal with it. I just didn't want to believe what was happening. I didn't accept the help that was offered. I couldn't think clearly. I didn't want the fact that my wife had a serious problem to be true. I tried cover up each crack in our family and Ryan always had been able to remove the cover of lies: lies I told myself.

"And that's it? Can't we at least give it a try and work it out?" I ask him. I'm not letting him go that easily. It sounds strange, but he still means something to me.

"I'm not ready to try. Not yet, but…I'll try."

"Okay, then…I can only wait for you to make the first step. Can you, just do me one favour?" I ask him. I have to ask him this.

I look at him. I don't know what he wants.

"Hang tight. Forget about what is between us and only concentrate on getting better. That's the only important thing. Could you do that?" I ask him. I can't bear the thought in my mind that he might not be there one day – that I'll never have the opportunity to explain myself to him and work things out.

"I'll try…that's all I can do…for now." He answers me. His glance wanders over to a waiting car – the car which is waiting for him.

"I guess I should go now. Have a nice day." He says and then turns around to go.

"Okay, was good to see you, though."

I have a meeting with Dawn this afternoon in the rehab. I can identify her from afar because of her bleached blonde curly hair. She has lost weight and without her makeup she looks sick.

"Dawn, nice to meet you. How are you doing?" I ask her politely although it's obvious that she's not doing well.

"Not so good." She answers. She's fiddling her hands in her lap.

"I can imagine." I answer her and this time I can. After what happened to Kirsten – witnessing her going through the withdrawal – I am much more aware of the fight it is.

"Why are you here?" She asks me and the tone of her voice signals that she isn't pleased to see me.

"I want to talk to you about Ryan's father, his biological father." I emphasise.

"Why?" She asks me. She's huffy.

"As you know, your son Ryan is very sick and we need to find his real father in order to find a suitable bone marrow donor." I explain to her.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" She asks me and I'm taken aback by this question. Why does she need a justification for me helping her son? She left him with us in our care.

"Because we care about him."

"After you forced him out of your house?" She bites back. She knows what has happened.

"I don't think you're in any position to talk like that. When you had the chance to start a new life with your son and leave everything behind you chose the alcohol and dumped your son at ours. Yes, we had rough times, but we overcame them and we try to start from new, with your son." I let her know. I won't allow anyone to compare me with the Atwoods a second time this day. Ryan? Okay, he has his reasons, although he's not right. But this woman? No, never.

"Well, if you think so. I don't know who the guy was. It's not like he gave me his business card afterwards." Great. No wonder that the kid has issues with such an irresponsible mother. Worse of all, how am I supposed to find out who the boy's father was? It seems as if nobody understands the seriousness of the situation.

"Do you know where he lives or lived?" I ask her, although I doubt that this information will be of much use. This man probably has moved.

"It had been in Fresno, one of these trailer parks."

"Thanks, that's a great help." I'm frustrated. I want to help Ryan, my son, but I can't because his mother seems to be a fan of promiscuous sex. What if I don't find his father? I know he mustn't be a match, but the chances are bigger than those of finding some suitable stranger being a match.

"Sorry Mr. Cohen, believe me, if I had known that my son one day needed to know his origins I would have asked for a name." Dawn says snappish. I don't understand this woman. She's losing her son, how can she be that indifferent about it?

"Dawn, aren't you concerned at all?"

"It's sad yes, but I have enough of my own problems to take care of than those of my precious son." She says bitterly.

"I hope you know that you'd be much worse off, if your so called precious son had been thinking like that through all the years he had been living with you." I say and then leave the rehab centre. I don't need to be polite to such a woman. She forces this behaviour.

A trailer park in Fresno. Hell, this town has probably a dozen of those and after sixteen years it's not even certain that this specific trailer park still exists.

I drive home. I'm furious about Dawn's unconcerned behaviour. I can't imagine any mother being like that. I come home and find my wife in the kitchen, nursing a cup of hot steaming tea in her hand. She's worried about something. I can see it on her frowned forehead.

"Hey honey." I greet her and give her a kiss.

"Hey."

"What are you thinking about?" I ask her, letting her know that I'm aware of her worries.

_**K.**_

"Nothing." I answer him. I don't know why, but maybe because after I know what he did, I don't think that Ryan is his business anymore. I know this is harsh, but what can he do anyway? Ryan's not going to trust him soon anyway.

"What are you worried about? C'mon, I can see that something's bothering you. You can tell me."

"It's just…Ryan is worrying me." I answer him. He wants to know what's going on as he still blames himself for my alcoholism.

"I won't say that he seemed fine to me this morning, but he looked better than I expected."

"I know and…he's holding up great, but he's not eating. That's what worries me the most lately." I fill him in.

"Side effect of the treatment, right?"

"Yes, and my Dad even cooked mashed potatoes, something he used to do for my mother when she was sick. But Ryan can't keep it down."

"Why do all people see mashed potatoes as the remedy against an upset stomach?"

"What? Why? What did you get when you were sick?"

"Apple rice."

"What?"

"My Mom had to cook plain rice with apples, sometimes some sugar and cinnamon. I kept it down."

"Honestly, this doesn't sound as if someone keeps it down voluntarily." I admit. I shudder at the mere thought of having to eat something like this.

"At least give it a try."

"I will, this evening." I answer him. It's at least worth a try. I have to get Ryan to eat more than the small portions he's eating currently. It's not even a real meal he's eating a day. This is not good.

"You go there again?"

"Yes, I have to make sure he doesn't overdo things. My father…he can't read him like I do. He can't see when Ryan's tired and only too proud to let him know. Could you find out about his father's whereabouts?"

"No, Dawn doesn't even know the man's name."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but this woman doesn't seem to be too worried about her son's condition. Talking more generally, I don't even think she cares. She was only talking about having her own problems and not being able to care." I'm stunned. I couldn't imagine Dawn being such an indifferent mother. In the same second I'm scared, because without knowing Ryan's father, the chances for a cure keep shrinking.

"Sandy, this woman is his mother. How can she talk like that?"

"Biologically, but let's face it. This woman is self-absorbed and her world is only focused on herself, otherwise she'd have gotten sober and taken her son with her instead of dumping him with us – not that I regret that she did do so. Not at all, but that's the fact and something no mother should do."

I sigh. I don't know what to think about all of this. I can't find an answer to all the questions which are swirling in my mind, not even when I drive back to my father's house. I go to the kitchen and start to cook the rice, and peel and cut the apples and then put them into the rice.

"Kiki, are you cooking?" My father says when he enters the kitchen.

"Yes I am, and I didn't burn anything yet."

"Eww, what's that?" My father asks in a disgusted way.

"Apple rice. Sandy suggested it."

"The boy shall keep it, not be food poisoned."

"I know Dad, but that's at least alternative. We don't need to make things worse as they already are." I snap at him and immediately regret my reaction. It's not his fault that things turn out not to work – it's not his fault that we're driving a one-way road.

"Sandy didn't have any luck, finding Ryan's father?" My father asks. How did all men in my life earn the ability to immediately know what's wrong with me when I only talk to them?

"No, not really." I answer and stir the mushy mass in the pot and decide it's done. I put a small portion in a bowl.

"Let's hope he can keep that." My father says and I make me way upstairs. I open the door to his room. He's sitting at his desk, busy studying. He's a very accurate student. He's not missing any details.

"Hey, that late and still busy studying?"

"Yeah, have to get this done by Monday." He answers me. I place the bowl on his desk and sit down on the bed.

"Are you sure you're still up to go to College every day? I mean, don't hesitate to let any of us know when you realise it's too much for you. In your situation it's okay to cut down any activity." I let him know. I'm still worried he's not taking his illness seriously enough. Of course he's going to his treatments regularly, but still: I doubt that he's accepted that he's not the strong tough guy he had been when he left. If he'd ever been this type of guy. I think he might just have played a role he had perfected over years.

"Kirsten, I'm fine. Really. It would be worse if I was deemed to sit around all the day and do nothing."

"I'm just worried you might overdo it. Here, maybe you can keep this." I point at the bowl in front of him and hand him a spoon.

"What's that?" He asks me puzzled.

"Apple rice. I know, sounds strange, but try it, please. You haven't been able to keep anything the last few days. Maybe this can help." I get up to leave him.

"You don't always have to leave when I'm eating, or something." He says and I turn around. I can't tell if my face looks as confused and astonished as I am? Does this mean he's starting to let me through to him? Is he eventually starting to trust me? Can he let me be his mother again?  
"Oh…I mean, you don't have to…I mean, if you rather leave and go home I can understand that. It's probably pretty boring watching other people eating." He starts to excuse his sentence. If he knew how much the previous sentence means to me.

"No…I'd like to stay with you. I …only thought…I mean you like your privacy and I didn't want to interfere into your space."

"Uh…no…you won't." He answers and then I sit back down in the bed. I watch him. An awkward silence takes the space of the room.

"Uh…so, how did you cope with all the work at College? I mean seriously, that's impossible to be done." He starts. Ryan and small talk, I didn't even know that this was possible.

"Honestly? I still don't know how I managed to get it all done. But somehow I did." I answer him.

"You're sure? I don't think I can make it. It's just too much and…too difficult. I doubt that this was the right decision." He tells me.

"Ryan, don't worry. You're at the beginning of your studies. It'll change. Next semester I'm sure things will be much easier for you. Hell, when I remember all the rage blackouts I had only because I couldn't understand the simple calculations."

"You and rage black outs? Are you sure it had been you and not your sister Hailey?"

"Pretty sure…" It feels good to be able to share my College memories with him. It brings me that much closer to him and I can show him that he's no different to the rest of us. Suddenly I have the feeling as if things can still turn out the right way. He can still make it – we can still make it.


	21. Chapter 19 Realisation

_**A/N.: Thanks to my Beta ParisAmy, who's doing a really great job and thanks a lot for reading this!**_

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_**19.**__**Realisation**__- it hurts us when it discovers the unwelcome truth_

_**R.**_

I enter the lecture theatre. I look for a seat in the back rows. I spot a seat, but a sudden wave of dizziness hits me and I have to stay still for it to get over. No, that's definitely not good. After a few seconds my vision clears again and the dumb feeling in my head is gone as well. The seat is taken by now. As I look around further I see a hand waving at me. I turn around, because I doubt this could be directed to me, but there's nobody behind me. I shrug and take a few steps. Seth.

"Dude, what you're doing here?" I ask him, when I settle down next to him. This wasn't one of his lectures at all.

_**S.**_

"Yes, well we're running low in Seth/Ryan time, so I thought I'd visit you in one of your lectures. You can't run away from me man. These few years must have been enough." I tell him. Actually we really barely see each other, but we're both awfully caught up in our studies. It's not like it had been before he left. Something got lost between us. Our relationship isn't as intense and intimate as it had been before. This feels wrong. After all we went through, our relationship is supposed to be even more intense. Is it my mistake or is it Ryan who keeps the grudge? I'm not sure. Definitely Ryan is more distanced towards me. Right, he never had been the guy who was talking about his intimate personal feelings and things, but our conversations seem to remain on the upper surface. I try to approach more deep topics, like what had happened during the time he was gone. I try sorting things out, but he refuses this topic. It's not as much fun hanging out with him as it had been. We're not laughing about the same jokes anymore. I can't annoy him with my babbling and bobbing. I can't annoy him with my whining and my antipathy towards physical labour. It's like he's dead. Shit. What? No, of course not dead. There's no reason for him that he should be dead. I can't I mean…he just doesn't seem to react as he used to.

_**R.**_

"Okay, Seth, but you know that you can't just chat through the lecture. This is just not working." I let him know. He wants things to go back to normal between us – as it had been before I left. I want it too, but I can't, not right now. There are too many lies lying between us, and I'm responsible for it. I had my reasons for not letting him know, but he'll never understand. Things have changed. I have changed. I can't be like I've been anymore. I would give everything to get back what had been between Seth and me, but this is impossible. It's awful to see how he clings to the past – how he clings to the past before the drinking and beating. I wished I could do so: just push on the rewind button and go on from when things still were alright. I just can't. It's hard to keep up a relationship with Kirsten, because she had hurt me with her behaviour. But it's me who determines the closeness or looseness of the relationship. In Seth's case it was me who has hurt him, and as much as I can forgive Kirsten for everything that happened, I can't forgive myself for pissing off without a previous word to Seth and then lying to him.

_**S.**_

"That's true, but you also can't run away from me after the lecture. See, I've planned it. After the lecture we'll go home and celebrate the beginning of the weekend. TGIF." I let him know. If he's reluctant to pick up our friendship from new, I'll force him to do so. He can't force me to accept the current situation between us. He can be mad at the 'rents, because they really fucked up and it took long for me to forgive my Mom and Dad, and they're my real parents and neither Mom nor Dad aimed any of their frustration at me, than this must be even harder for Ryan to forgive. But I didn't harm him. I only forced him to stay and I had all right to. He was – is – my brother and to be honest: he was in much better shape when he was still with us. I relied on him, but this is the expression of a deep relationship of trust, right? If someone relies on you, he shows you that he trusts you. I trusted Ryan and then he left and he lied to me. Was I wrong to trust him? Well, I doubt that, because he never lied to hurt me. He's so fucking busy with protecting everyone that he can't even protect himself and that's what I hate about him.

"That's true. But what about Summer? Aren't you supposed to celebrate your weekend with your girlfriend?"

_**R.**_

"Nah, she's okay with that. She'll use the time off to do some serious shopping." I only nod. The professor has entered the lecture theatre and starts his lecture. I have trouble following it. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and it's an irritating feeling. I have a dull pressure in my ears and I can hear my blood circulating. I try to concentrate on my notes but without pre-warning my arm gets numb for a second and I drop the pen. Shit. I bend down to pick it up again. Great. It's somewhere between all the bags. I have to bend down deeper and the blood rushes into me head and the dull feeling increases when I get up again. Dark spots dance in front of my vision.

"Mr. Atwood, after you've been so busy handling things under the bench, would you like to come here and give us an example of how to solve this problem?" Shit. He doesn't like me. I knew it.

I get up and my body breaks out in perspiration. I slowly make my way downstairs. The professor hands me the chalk. Am I glad that the problem is not a difficult one otherwise I would end up as the dumb ass from the back row. When I'm finished I hand him back the chalk "Not as inattentive as I thought." He comments. I want to go back to my seat

"And Mr. Atwood, I don't know whether your parents forgot to teach you the principles of good behaviour, but here people tend to take off their hats when they enter a room." I sigh. I'm not really keen on being identified as the guy with cancer on first sight. Well, I won't be able to escape this humiliation. My pride isn't worth it pissing off a professor who gets to determine my further academic career. I take off my cap. I know I should say something, but the battle that would follow? I just couldn't fight it too. I'm already struggling with a lot of other things. I don't have the energy for any unnecessary blow off.

"Sir, can I now go back to my seat?" I ask. I'm not fond of sitting for just a second and being commanded back again immediately.

"For now, you can."

_**S.**_

My jaw drops when the professor bosses Ryan around as if he was some kind of dog. Worse of all: where's the Ryan who would have given this man the hell of hells? Why doesn't he defend himself against these attacks? This is not right.

"You okay man?" I ask him when he sits down next to me again. I can see that he's exhausted. This is not right.

"Sure." Of course. Ryan Atwood admitting that he doesn't feel well would mean a nearly dying Ryan Atwo…I should think before I think, this is not polite.

"Does this happen a lot?"

"Only Fridays." That's a great answer.

"Mr. Atwood, still not learnt where to pay attention to? What about solving this problem for us too, after you went through the first one masterly?" I'm irritated. Doesn't the man in front of the board see that Ryan is not well and not in any shape to run up and down the stairs again and again?

"Shit, don't you see that he's not well?" I scream out when I watch Ryan struggling to get up and gaining his composure.

"Seth, it's okay." He responds quietly.

"I don't award pity rewards." The professor answers and I'm not sure whether I wanted to listen to this sentence.

"Yeah, but there's also no reason for bullying." I shout back.

"Seth! It's okay." Ryan suddenly snaps at me.

"Mr. Atwood we don't have the whole day." His Professor reproaches him. I witness the battle Ryan is fighting for following the instructions. He looks at me, his eyes nearly pleading, but I don't know what for.

I watch Ryan struggling with gaining his balance. This doesn't look good at all. I watch his legs trembling. Not trembling, but buckling. Ryan turns his head to me.

"S…" Is all he gets out. I realise too late that he's about to fall. I jump out of my seat and try to reach him, but his knees gave in before I can get hold of his arm. I stretch out an arm to grab hold of him, but my finger tips only slightly brush his upper arm, before he collapses on the stairs.

"Ryan!" I call out when I see his limp body falling down the stairs. I'm like paralyzed during the time of his falling. I can't believe that this is happening. The sharp scream of a female voice drags me out of my trance and I rush downstairs to where Ryan's lying.

"Ryan?" Unconscious. Shit. His professor has horror written all over his face.

"Stop gawking but call for help!" I scream into his face. I turn back to Ryan's unconscious limp body. His chest is rising and falling. That's good. But there's blood. The source is an awful wound on his head. Shit. He's not supposed to bleed, right? Because bleedings don't stop easily when you have leukaemia, right? Oh, shit. When I turn around and the dumb ass of professor hasn't reacted yet, I pull out my cell phone and dial 911, not taking my eyes off Ryan.

_**R.**_

A stinging smell creeps into my nose, causing nausea. Well, the headache might be a reason for it too. Oh shit. Whom must I have pissed off this time? My body hurts like a bitch.

"Ryan?" I hear an anxious female voice. I feel something grabbing my hand. Instinctively I pull it away.

_**K.**_

"Sweetie, it's me. C'mon open your eyes." I watch Ryan coming back to the land of the living. When I received the call from Seth it felt as if the world around me stopped spinning.

"Ryan, look at me, please." I beg him. I need to make sure that he's okay, although this is impossible in his current situation. Of course he's not okay. He wouldn't be here if he was.

His eyes slowly open and I wave of relief goes through my body.

"Hey there, you gave me quite a scare." I let him know. I make a second attempt to take his hand. This time he doesn't pull it away. It's cold and trembling.

"How are you feeling?"

_**R.**_

"Not that great. Sore." I answer. I'm not in the mood for pretending to feel well. I don't even want to seem to be well, because then people treat you like you're well and today was the best proof that this is not really working: not being well, but being treated as if I am. Actually it had never worked, not with my Mom, not when the Cohen's started to screw up and not now. The difference is that I was able to cover up everything with my condition, but this one doesn't allow me to.

"That's to be expected after such a fall." The doctor says when he enters the room. It's the one who's in charge of my treatments.

"Keen on your inventory?" He asks me, and no I don't think that this joke it funny at all.

"Well, no answer means yes for me. You have a broken rib, several bruises all over your body and a laceration including concussion. Means: we'll keep you overnight for observation and put you on antibiotics, because your weakened immune system won't be able to fight any germs anymore. We'll interrupt the treatment for one or two weeks, giving you time to recover from the fall. Everything clear so far?" I only nod.

"Okay, I leave you alone now. But do me and especially yourself a favour and think about whether you're still in any condition for attending College every day. This was an alert sign from your body. You shouldn't ignore it." He says and then leaves. Great. Exactly what I need.

"Don't worry, we'll find a solution – for everything."

I don't response, because right now I have to realise that the life I'm used to is completely gone by now. I have to realise the seriousness of this. I have to realise that I might never be able to finish my studies. I have to realise that I have to depend on people who already let me down once.

"Kirsten, could you…I need some time to think." I ask her. I don't want her around right now. I want my peace and my thoughts for me alone. I don't want to share them.

_**K.**_

"Okay, but don't engage in too much brooding. You need to rest." I tell him. I know that he has to digest the doctor's warning and that I can't help him with that. I feel how my heart starts to ache at the thought of the devastated feeling that must have struck him. Without thinking I kiss his forehead and then leave the room.

"Can…you say 'thanks' to Seth for me?" He asks me when I reach for the doorknob.

"No problem."

"Thanks…for everything." He nearly whispers and this sentence makes my heart ache even more. He sounds so helpless, nearly like a frightened boy who has no clue of what is coming up to him.

"How's he?" Seth asks me as soon as I've left the room.

"Not good. A broken rib and a concussion. But I think the fact that his body is now really starting to show its weakness frightens him."

"Mom, that would frighten everyone. I mean he collapsed in the lecture hall in front of I don't know how many other students."

"By the way, he wants me to say thanks for helping him."

"As if I'd let him lie there alone." My son's innocence strikes me again.

"Your Dad, and I let him down once. I think it's hard for him to overcome. And now he even has to realise that he has to rely on us, because he'll need – he needs help now and will need more and more with every passing day and I think that's what's frightening him the most. How would you feel if you were forced to rely on someone you don't actually trust?" I ask him. It's the bitter truth. Ryan's forced into an unbearable situation and I have to fight to make him trust me – us – again. I have to fight for him. Everything else would end up in a battle he can't engage in without losing precious energy and spirit he'll need for this here.


	22. 20 Hope

_**A/N.: Thanks for the reviews and of course to my beta ParisAmy!**_

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_**20.**__**Hope **_– _we cling to it, when rationally nothing can be changed_

_**S.**_

I'm driving through Fresno. I don't have a lot : a photo from Dawn when she was younger and got pregnant with Ryan, and I know that I have to find someone in some trailer park. Impossible. Most of these parks don't even exist anymore. I arrive at one of them. It looks worse than shabby. It's the last one on the list. The last few haven't seen the woman. They might not have been living there when she came there. They might not remember her. The smell of alcohol radiating from them made me wonder whether these people remembered their names. I doubt that. I get out of my car.

"Hey, do you know who owns this park?" I ask a man who's watching me with a wary eye. He must be around his sixties, but alcohol destroys your body faster than you want it to. He's probably not as old as he looks.

"You're talking to him." I nod.

"I wanted to ask whether you've ever seen this woman." I show him the picture.

"Oh yes. She's legend in our stories of the good old times." The man smirks. A tiny feeling of hope glimpses up in my stomach. Maybe I finally have found a real track, not only another piece, but something that could actually help me to put the pieces together.

"Can you tell me about her?" I ask him.

"For a drink?" He asks me. Only a drink? I would give everything for some information that could help me to save the son I nearly lost once and that I'm now going to lose again - although I never really had him back until now.

"Sure." I answer. The guy leads me to a bar. I'd describe it as a dark dirty hole. The man orders a double whisky at the bartender and sits down in one of the stools. I sit down next to him and order a beer.

"So?" I ask him. He only grins and lightens a cigar. He takes a drag and blows the foul smoke into my face. I have to brace myself from not coughing or waving the smoke away.

"Well, this lady was Frank Atwood's wife. All people around here knew that we'd better not touch her. Jimmy once did and Frank beat the living hell out of him. She was dangerous. She wasn't satisfied with what Frank could offer her so she used to wander around here, tried to find someone who wanted to do her. We all knew better than doing that after what had happened to Jimmy. Only one day she came here devastated. She's had a huge fight with Frank and after Frank announced that he doesn't care anymore and that he doesn't want her back the men around here started to line up, waiting who was next. People say she's a legend in bed, but hard to satisfy. I don't know. I never tried her. After two days or so, Frank had enough of all the rumour. He came here and said if ever anyone touched his still wife, he'll regret it." I nod and take a sip from the bottle.

"And then?" I ask the man.

"Well, she was too frightened to go back home to Frank, but she couldn't stay here as well. Nobody wanted her around. She was a bunch of trouble. My friend took pity and let her stay with him. I think it was the only way this woman survived what happened. If she had gone home with Frank as he had told her to, he'd beaten her to pulp." The man says and took a final last swig from his whisky. Great. There's a number of potential fathers. This can be a long search. I order another double whisky for the man, in the hope he can tell me a little more.

"Thanks." He says. "For what do you need this story?" He asks me.

"There's someone who'd like to know who is father is." I answer him.

"The list of potential ones is long." The man answers. I feared that.

"Can you help me to make this list?" I ask him. This is all I can do. Making a list and then try one after another. This is going to be hell. I only hope that the search for the right one won't take too long. As bad as it sounds: Ryan's time's running out.

"Sorry there. I only know that my friend might be one of them. That's all." He answers.

"Did he and her…"

"I think so. She was like a ravenous wild cat." He answers.

"Is he still living here?"

"Nope, he made out a living again and left this pathetic place, but I can give you his address if you want to." The man says.

"I'd appreciate that." I answer him. I hand him a pen, and he scribble the address down on a napkin.

"Thanks, you've been a great help." I say, pay the bartender and place a hundred dollar note in front of the man. Now I only have to hope that this is the man I've been looking for. I don't know what I'll do if he's not. The feeling that my hope is minimised to one single person is awful. There's only this one chance. Nothing more. I have a look at the address. It's on the other end of the states – New York. I can include a visit at my mother then. I should stop the sarcasm. This is really not the time for thinking in these terms. This situation is much too serious as if I should think like that. I have to distract myself from the thought that this hope can be easily destroyed. Worst of all: it's me who has to deliver the defeating messages. It feels as if I was the one destroying the hope the others – my wife and my healthy son – have in me.

When I'm home I'm exhausted. I feel drained. I'm surprised to meet emptiness when I enter the kitchen. Usually always someone is occupied down here. I place my briefcase on the kitchen counter and poke my head around the corner of the kitchen to find my wife sitting on the couch. She's in her sport outfit. Right, today was day of yogalates. She has he legs drawn up under her chin, a pillow placed on top over her knees on which she rests her chin.

"Honey?" I ask her - worried that she hasn't recognised me when I entered the house. She looks up and I can see the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

"Oh my God what's wrong?" I rush over to her.

"He's giving up." She says and then let herself fall against my shoulder without uncurling from her position. I stroke over her hair and brush the tears out of her face.

"Whom are you talking about?" Her state doesn't seem to make sense to me, though it's terrifying familiar to me.

"Ryan…he's giving up." She tells me. What is all this about. The last few weeks everything seemed to go fine and now all out of a sudden this?

"Did something happen?" She nods snuffling. I grab in my pocket and hand her my handkerchief. She takes it and gently dries her tears and wipes her nose before she settles back into a more firm position.

"He collapsed in his lecture today. He's not…too badly injured, but the doctor told him that he shouldn't attend his lectures anymore. Oh, Sandy. You should have seen his face. He was devastated. With each part of independency he loses, he's giving up a little more." She tells me.

"Then you have to make it clear to him that he can't give up, that there is still something worth living for." I tell her. I would've included me, but I know that he wouldn't take my advice. Only small steps. That's all I can request.

"What, Sandy? It seems as if…his studies and becoming an architect were all he had, and if they take that away from him there's nothing left." She explains to me.

"But…this is only a break in his way. This doesn't mean that he'll never get where he wants to." I let her know.

"Sandy, we're talking about Ryan. He knows that this break, which he has no control over, can be detrimental to his career, and he knows how hopeless his overall-situation is as well. He has no spirit to fight." And I can add to it.

"It's not hopeless. There are still chances." I try to sooth her, swallowing heavy on the lump in my throat.

"What did you find out today?" She asks me.

"That Dawn was the mother of promiscuity. There's a list of potential fathers, but I have only one name and address." I tell her.

"Our last hope then. When do you go?"

"As soon as I can get a flight to New York."

"What kind of mother are you, when you're having that many men that you can't even tell who of them was the father of your children?"

"I only know that Dawn 's never been known for her capacity in being a mother."

"I don't know what to do. I have no clue of how to get him through to this.


	23. 21 Moods

_**A**__**/N: **_Sorry for the delay of this chapter and a big THANK YOU to my new Beta 6footer, who's doing a really good job and also THANK YOU to my former Beta ParisAmy who has been a big help for me for a long time =)

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_**21.**__**Moods**__- they're irrational, hard to deal with and have deeper reasons than we can understand_

_**K.**_

I enter his room silently, because I'm afraid of waking him up. I'm surprised seeing him sitting in bed and reading. He had been quite exhausted and depressed depressed after his break down. Now it seems as if nothing has happened. He still owns the gift of pretending. How long must he have been practicing this attitude that he really makes you believe that everything was 'fine'?

"Hey, how're you feeling?" I ask him. I only earn a glare. No not a glare. It's The Glare, as my son would describe it.

"Okay wrong question." I say and sit down on the chair at the desk. There's a sketch of construction plans lying on the table. The lines are neatly drawn, over-precisely. Next to the plan I see the different pencils aligned next to each other. Looking at this nobody would consider a human being having arranged this. He had never been different. I have never found cloths on the floor of the pool house. Shoes and backpack were the only occupants of the floor, but they used to be hid somewhere where they didn't disturb the scene of a furnished model home. It never had the atmosphere of being a teenager's room. Seth was and still is a complete different issue in that case. I used to think that this might be a sign that he still feels like a guest, but sometimes I think this was just another feature of risk-aversion. His whole behaviour is drawn in this pattern, well not always, but mostly: don't offer anybody anything to complain about.

"Looks interesting. For a coursework?" I ask him, not realising the irony of this question.

"Had been, yeah." He answers. Brick.

"You can still use it for your applications later." I try to sooth his feeling of having spent efforts and time for something now useless.

_**R.**_

"Therefore I only needed to have something to apply for." I tell her. I'm really in no mood for talking about my future. I'm in no mood for talking at all, but nobody seems to care anyway. Hello, I'm confronted with something that can be described as unpredictability and uncontrollable. I've never been a fan of things I can't control or predict. It scares me to death. How ironic. I don't even know what the end of this story will be. This situation is worse than unnerving.

"I assume you'll pick up your studies as soon as you're recovered."

I look at her. Her determining attitude is annoying. As if it could change anything.

_**K.**_

"Ryan?" I ask him, after I don't receive an answer. I'm worried he starts to shut down on me again. I can't stand it when he's doing that.

"What?" He snaps at me. I'm taken aback. Now it's me who's only looking. I shake my head. I don't think I deserve this kind of reaction. I haven't done anything wrong this time.

_**R.**_

I sigh. I still haven't wrapped my head around the new phase of my life, if you can still consider it as life, but right: it doesn't give me the right to ward off my anger on those around me, because if I start doing that I'm only proving I'm no different.

"Kirsten, I collapsed during my lecture. I had no control. I have no control over this. I don't know how this will end, and I'm not going to make plans when I'm not sure whether I'll be able to realise them one day."

"Ryan, you can't be really thinking like that, do you? Isn't there anything else, you're looking forward to? Don't you have anything to live for?"

"What? What or who is left for me? I can't proceed with my studies. The last one I had was my brother, who pissed off when you appeared on the doorstep. My Mom didn't let me stay at hers even for a second. So what?"

_**K.**_

I look into these tired and cold blue eyes. I don't know what to tell them. I want to walk out of this room and slam the door shut, but if I do so he had won and had his proof that we really didn't care. Why is he making it all so difficult? He's behaving like a spoilt rich kid. The emotions, all over rage, are boiling in the pit of my stomach. I can't do this anymore. I can't handle his mood swings. One time he seems to have overcome his fears, and the other one he's slapping my face with them. He had changed and I can't handle this Ryan anymore. I get up.

"I don't understand you. We're doing all in our power to help to get you through this and you're behaving like this. My father pulled all possible strings so you could have a normal life as long as possible. Sandy is driving through the country in vain to find your father, and I'm there for you all the time, but still this isn't enough for you."

_**R.**_

"I didn't ask you to." I get out of bed. I don't need this. It's the same old shit. 'Ryan is not behaving as expected', Ryan gets his ass kicked and although it's only verbally, it's enough for me. I don't need this. I told her I can't play happy family and when she can't accept this simple fact I'm out of here.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Away." I tell her. I pull on my trousers. I ignore the fact that my body is sore and that I can barely move. I ignore the headache that never seems to stop. I ignore the cramps in my stomach.

"You can't always run away from your family when things aren't comfortable enough for you."

"Therefore you need to have a family." I bite back and open the door.

"Ryan!" She screams after me.

"Ryan, come back here!"

Does she really think that he hysteric screaming was going to get me back to her? She's even more naive as I thought she was. Newpsie. Nothing more to expect.

_**K.**_

I watch him walking out of the house. How can he? He just collapsed in his lecture. Where does he take this strength from?

"Ryan!" I scream behind him one last time. I can't keep up with his speed. He doesn't turn around. He doesn't recognise me. He just walks on. He doesn't stop. I watch him go. I wait and when I can't see him anymore I stare down at the horizon, inwardly hoping that he might come back. He won't. He's stubborn and determined. When I've been standing long enough and watched, I go back inside and slam the door shut.

"Kirsten, what's wrong?" My father comes in from the garden and throws a puzzled look at me.

"Nothing." I tell him and walk past him.

"Kirsten!" He demands.

"Dad! It's nothing. Okay?"

"Is it the boy? Is he skittish again?" He asks me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, but don't worry it's over."

"What?"

"He's gone. He left."

"What? Why? Kirsten, what happened upstairs?"

"We had a fight and…Dad, he can't do this with us and we have to accept it."

"Don't tell me that he had become moody again. Kirsten, I told you not to…"

"Dad, stop it. Honestly, he behaved … like an ungrateful little brat and I don't want to enforce my presence when he doesn't want it." I tell my father and storm out of the house again. A storm of emotions is raging inside of me. I feel embarrassed, because I made myself a fool with my attempt to help. I'm frustrated, because I don't know what I shall do now. I'm angry, because I lost this battle. But the most I am sad, because I lost my son and this time it feels as if I really did. It happened in front if my eyes. Even if I'd been there at that time, I couldn't have prevented any of it. I couldn't have prevented him from running or hiding, or from rejecting us. I never possessed that power.

I go home, but when I enter the house I don't know what to do. The house is empty. There's nobody and nothing to do, because our servants do everything. I'm alone and don't know what to do with the thunderstorm burning inside of me. I go to the kitchen and pour a mug of coffee, hoping it'll calm me down. I lean against the kitchen counter. He just left. He quasi insulted me, telling me I wasn't family after all I did and then he just went away. I can't believe it. I don't know what had gotten into him. I can't remember him behaving this disrespectful to anyone of us while he was still living with us. This can't be him. And why me? I didn't beat him. I mean, yes I've been saying things I shouldn't have said, but hell by now he should know that I feel sorry and that I didn't mean it. Why me? Why did he do that? I feel the rage boiling steaming. Why? Is this fucking conflict worth it risking his life? Is it worth it hurting all around him with his loss? This is nothing but a fucked up crap! I smash the mug against the fridge. I watch the shards flying through the kitchen and the brown liquid slowly rinsing down the door and dripping down, creating a brownish puddle on the floor. The slowness is annoying me only more and I take the plate that's lying on the counter and smash it against the fridge as well, then the glass.

"You're fucking bastard!" I scream when I have a bowl in my hand ready to throw it, but a firm hand embraces my wrist.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" My husband asks me. I haven't even noticed that he had come home.

"Sandy what…" In a sudden moment all my emotions wash over me and I bury my face in his chest and let the tears free to relieve the pressure inside of me.

"Kirsten, what…"

_**S.**_

"I did everything wrong. I did everything wrong one could…possibly do wrong. I…he left…again and I don't think that I can get him back again…and…it's just awful." She sobs into my already soggy shirt. I hold her tight, pecking the top of her head.

"He…do you mean Ryan left?" I ask her carefully. I don't want to upset her any further. It's already shock enough to see my wife losing composure that bad. She nods.

"Did you have a fight?"

"I…said awful things to him…and…and he said awful things back. I was so taken aback, because he doesn't use to react like that. I don't know, but this…wasn't Ryan." She tells me. I doubt that we've had enough time to find out, whom and how Ryan really was. The time had been too short and the circumstances had been just wrong.

"And where is he now?" I ask her.

"I don't know. I tried to follow him, but I gave up…I…gave up just like that." I don't know what to answer to this.

"It was just too much, all his rejection and insults, his moodiness. I was fed up. I wanted him to give us – me - a chance, and…I don't know what had gotten into me." She says.

"And…now?" I ask her. I have a strong feeling in the pit of my stomach and I don't like it. It tells me that I've lost something, again.

"Eww, guys go and get you a room." We hear from behind. We both turn around and face our son.

"Everything okay?" He asks us when he sees his Mom's devastated expression.

"Ryan's gone." I tell him. I don't want to burden my depressed wife with answering this question.

"Yeah, good joke dad. As if…" He says and goes to the cupboard to get a mug and pours himself some coffee.

"He can and he did." I tell him. He looks at me and then, as soon as the words left my mouth, he puts the mug with a violent thud on the counter.

"Great. Has anyone of you thought about that this situation might have been worse on him that on you? At least you treated him for months pretty much like his mother and her boyfriends used to do it." He says and storms out. I look at my wife and see the tears welling up in her eyes again. It hurts, but he's right – in some way. Oh my God, now even my son compares us with these incompetent parents. The worst is that we all know what this situation might mean and we all fear the outcome. On the other hand, who are we to determine how and where and even whether he lives? He's old enough and smart enough to make his own decisions and he has reasons for not wanting to go on. No matter how wrong it is, we're not in any position to force him to live. We've had our chance when he had been living with us. It feels utterly wrong, but that's the truth.

"Maybe we should just let him go. Don't put him under further agony than he's already in. He doesn't need another battle. Maybe this is exactly what he wants and the only way for him to cope with the situation."

"So you tell me basically that we should give up on him?"

"If this is what he wants then we should respect it. Yes." I tell her. She looks at me, hate and anger radiating at me. This hadn't been what she wanted to hear.

"After all you've put him through you now decide it's okay…when he's alone, sick and…probably dying? After all you did to him, you decided finally that it's okay to let him die?" She screams at me. This is enough. I know that I'm playing a major role in this farce, but I'm not going to take all the blame.

"I? Did you forget who had found comfort in a bottle instead on her family? If you hadn't even started all of this wouldn't have happened." I ask her back. I scream back. I didn't see the hand coming.

"Great now you're blaming me. Just as notice: we're all to blame for what had happened: Mom, you and me too. We all hurt him and forced him to leave and we all have to make it up to him, soon."


	24. Maths

**A/N: I am really awfully sorry for this delay. A huge THANKS to my beta-reader 6 footer =)**

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**23 Maths**– _it's the art of perfection, but the tiniest omission leads to wrong results_

_**S.**_

It wasn't difficult to find him. He has no strength for a survival trip. Now we're in Boston. I've never been to the east coast before and I have to say: it's cold. It's awfully cold. I rub my hands against each other to get them warm. The building we – Mom, Dad and I – enter doesn't seem to be heated. I can see my breath. We have to take the stairs. There's no lift. We reach the door. Mom knocks firmly at the door and a man opens it. He steps out when he sees us and closes the door. This must be Trey. I've never seen Ryan's brother before. He always had been some kind of myth. I never really had thought about a name being a brother, but now he's standing in front of us, presenting his existence and proving that he's not only a mere myth.

"Sorry, but he's not really up to visitors. The new treatment and the meds pretty much knock him out." He tells us. Who the fuck is he that he can tell us that we can't go and visit Ryan? The whole time Ryan had been living with us he hadn't even tried to make us aware of his existence, why now? This is hypocrisy deluxe.

"Trey, let her in!" We can hear Ryan's voice from inside. I always thought it was me eavesdropping, never thought that Ryan was practicing it as well.

"There are three!" Trey calls back. We can hear a loud sigh.

"Yeah, whatever." He calls back from inside.

"On your own risk." Trey says and lets us pass. He grabs a jacket from a hook in the wall.

"Okay, I'm off then." Trey calls to his brother. "Don't wear him out." He directs challenging to us. We hesitatingly step further into the room. It's small and dark and cold.

"What's this supposed to mean?" Ryan asks us. He's standing in the kitchen. My glance falls onto a mattress on the floor, covered with a bunch of rumbled sheets and covers. This is even worse than I'd ever imagined. Ryan carries three mugs of tea and places them on a small table. He motions us to sit down.

"Don't you want to sit down?" I ask him.

"No, I better remain standing." He answers clenching his own mug in his hands. He looks even worse than when he had still been staying with us. His eyes are bloodshot and dark circles surrender them.

"So what is all this about?" He asks us.

"We…want to apologize. We all made mistakes and we've realized it now, but no matter how bad these mistakes have been, we don't want to lose you." I take over the conversation, still not sure how he feels about us being there – especially about my husband being there as well.

_**R.**_

"Yeah, we had that already." I have no fucking clue why they can't understand that I don't want them around…or well, that I want them around, but can't have them around or…things are just too twisted as if I could understand them.

"We want to take care of you." Kirsten starts pleading again.

"What are the doctors here for? It's not like you could do anything for me." A wave of dizziness hits me and forces me to sit down. I don't need to pass out in front of them, only to prove their theory…of whatever.

_**S.**_

"Does the doctor know what you can eat when you're that miserable and unable to keep anything? Can a doctor decode your brooding degree and distinguish the everyday-brooding from dangerous-need-to-punch-someone-into-the-face brooding? Does a doctor kick your ass when you give up?" I ask the questions my parents are too polite to ask. This is not the right time for being polite. Someone has to kick the guy's ass to make him realise that his loner-show is nothing else but an attempt to circumvent his emotions, which is deemed to failure.

"Seth, what's this shit about?"

"Maybe you tell me – us – what has triggered your permanent moodiness." I ask him. We lock eyes. I don't break the contact. He doesn't either. It's like a battle of wills. Even I can feel the tension that's in the atmosphere, I won't give in. Finally Ryan breaks the contact. He gets up.

"What?" I ask him. He doesn't answer me. He grabs a jacket.

"Oh no, you're not running away again." I yell at him. I've never yelled at him before, but right now I have to.

"You can't always run away, without giving us a proper explanation!" I scream at him. He turns around and only glares at me.

_**R.**_

He's right, in some way. I only haven't figured out in what way. Running just seems to be the easiest solution. I don't actually have to explain anything, and I don't have to face…whatever is bothering me.

"Since when, is Ryan Atwood the man for the easy way of the cowards, huh? Chucked the hoodie?"

I don't know why but he's so damn fucking right and he's making all these memories coming back again and I don't like this.

"Where's the Ryan Atwood who came to Newport and started a fight with the water polo team, where's…"

"Shut up Seth, I'm thinking." I growl. I look at Sandy who hasn't said a word. This is totally uncharacteristic for him. He usually is the one who starts and ends a conversation, why not this time? But I don't miss it right now. It's not like all three of them showing up is intimidating enough for me.

_**S.**_

"Ryan, may I ask you one serious question? If we didn't care about you, do you really think we would try so hard to get you back? I mean did your family in blood try to make up for the crap they've done to you? Don't you think Mom and Dad and I deserve a chance?" I ask Ryan. He needs to know that what happened had been an accident and that no one really meant anything of it. He has to realise that we aren't the bad ones, but the ones who try to correct their mistakes and fight for him.

"And though you're so similar." He replies.

"Ryan, when something's up in your mind, I think now is the best time to say it. After we all made fools of ourselves and performed a soul striptease there's nothing for you to lose." My father tries an attempt – a not really sensitive one.

"Wrong time, Dad." I only reply. It's too early for sarcasm right now. We've reached a crucial point. Ryan's in his option-weighing-brooding mode. This remark could have tipped his brooding into a direction we don't want it to be.

"So it's not cheesy to say that…this time was…like Dawn and her boyfriends reloaded." He says shyly. I knew that he was thinking like that, but I've never heard my friend saying it with some sort of emotion swaying in his voice.

_**R.**_

"I…dunno it's…I mean…when I was …actually I have no idea how old I've been then…

_My Mom had been in really bad shape then. She had been drinking more than ever. I've never seen her being sober or lucid in those days. I guess she'd been using something too then. I dunno and I don't wanna know. It had been the time in which she started to hook up with A. was horrible seeing my Mom like that every day. Had been quite a rough time. Not only did I have to take care of myself, but of my Mom and Trey, when he was around. I didn't complain, just thought Mom had a bad phase or something, until she brought A.J. home and unleashed the storm. At first he was only beating her and when I tried to get between the two of them…I was the lucky one getting the beating. I never understood why she let him do that. I knew my Mom when she'd been sober. She never allowed anyone humiliating her. I mean, we never had a lot, but she always had her pride. She stopped taking care of anything. She even stopped taking care of herself. When I got up in the morning she was still in bed and when I came home I saw that she already had drunk half a bottle of whatever cheap liquor she could get. I started to ask her why she wouldn't stop and she only answered that there was no reason for doing so. I think after my father got arrested she just saw no other way than drowning her sorrows in a bottle. She tried to make a new start with us in Chino, but she failed. She got no job and those she got barely paid the bills. She must have been awfully frustrated. I know I would have been. Then she just started drinking and hold on to anything that only seemed like a glimpse of hope like all these boyfriends she brought home and made her depending on them. She lost her pride and her independence. _

_She reached a point where she really hit the rock bottom. She had stopped eating. Instead she was drinking and puking. Nothing else. I had to make her sit upright so she wouldn't choke on whatever she had to throw up. She was nothing else but a limp body in my arms when I did so. She had nothing to support herself. She was …helpless. It was shocking seeing her like this, day after day. Taking care of someone who used to be able to take care of himself is awful. One day I held her skinny, but heavy limp body in my arms. A.J. had beaten her up badly and pissed off afterwards. She had been drinking the whole time since._

"_I hate this fucking bastard." She'd been swearing between the retches. _

"_It's okay Mom." I tried to sooth her. She was too upset as if her stomach could settle down in that state. When she was done I carried her to bed._

"_Be good and bring me a drink." Mom said. I couldn't believe what she was asking for after all the throwing up._

"_Mom, don't you think you had enough for today?"_

"_Didn't I have enough guys that hurt me? And, did it make any change? Do you need to hurt me too?" She answered. I knew I couldn't make any difference that night. If I wouldn't get her the drink she requested, she'd been angry with me and got it herself. I brought her a glass of I don't know what._

"_When will you stop this?" I asked her again._

"_When you're eventually gone and my life is worth living." I didn't reply to that. It had hurt like hell and I don't know why I stayed with her. I should have gone as she told me to, because my reward for staying were the beatings of A.J and my mom's hatred, negligence, depression or whatever emotional state she had left over for me. Maybe if I'd gone that evening she would have stopped, gotten the help she needed and then got the life worth living she's always been dreaming about._

_Then I met Sandy and things turned out to be worse when my Mom eventually kicked me out, but then you let me stay with you and told me things would be different and that I was having a family and things weren't going back to be as they've been in Chino. Then Kirsten started drinking and everything started from new. I was holding her limp and skinny body when she was throwing up. The only difference was that she wasn't as heavy as my Mom used to be. I watched how a woman that I love lost all her pride and self-esteem, and stopped taking care of everything around her and herself, though she used to be woman that took care of everything. It was the same. I came home one day. Kirsten's been lying on the couch again – passed out. I wanted to carry her to bed, but she woke up. We didn't make it to the bathroom. I was glad that the bowl was sitting on the small table in the den. I rubbed her back, although I knew she didn't appreciate it. I used to do it for my Mom too. I always found it very comforting. It took her some time to regain her composure, or what was left of it. She glared at me with her cold eyes and I already felt that she wanted to be left alone and that I was the last person she wanted to see in that moment. I shouldn't have said anything then. I did, though._

"_When do you stop all this?" I wanted to open her eyes, hoping that the fact that she was puking in a bowl, meant to be decoration, instead of into the toilet bowl, would make her realise how wrong all of this was._

"_When you stop pestering me." The only thing that made her different from my Mom was the fact that my Mom probably doesn't know what pestering means. I should have listened from the very beginning, but I didn't. I had promised Seth I would stay. I couldn't break it. So I stayed and then Sandy started lashing out after me and things were exactly the same as it was at home, and despite the fact that I couldn't take it anymore, I really thought that if I behaved differently this time, things would turn out to change and that Kirsten would get the help she needed. So I left and I was right._

_**S.**_

Just the same old shit. I doubt that people can change their attitudes that substantially, that former hatred can become something they perceive as love. So before I risk getting disappointed once again, I rather stay alone." I'm astonished about this deep insight into my friend's/brother's story. It's the first time he actually allows me to see things out of his point of view. It's strange but all those things really have a different meaning for him, and I thought it was impossible. Nevertheless he made one mistake in his calculation.

"You know that not everything is the same, or? I mean did your Mom ever get help and become sober after you left her?" He looks away from me what means he got the point and is too embarrassed to accept that he had forgotten about one important thing, which is so tiny and though can tip the whole math he performed in his head to another result.

"Thanks Seth."

"What for?" I ask him back. I don't understand his answer.

"For making me the most stupid person on earth." He answers back and I still don't get what he means, not even when he let himself fall onto the bed and curls up. What's that? Things are strange since Mom had brought Ryan back into our lives. Ryan acts strange. Well not that his actions usually made sense, but they now make even less sense and that's scary.

_**K.**_

I stare at my son. Until now I only thought my husband had the gift of talking people into realisation. Now I have to watch how one of my sons inherited this gift. But it hurts to see how much this realisation seems to hurt Ryan. He deserves a little bad conscience, but not the huge one, because we're not innocent in this. We made him compare us with…his biological family and worst of all: we made him thinking of us as the same bunch of persons as his biological family. This is a sign for a huge failure.

_**S.**_

"Ryan, I think we all made a lot of mistakes and this here is the smallest one and the easiest one to be forgiven." I let Ryan know, although I doubt that he'll ever listen to me again, after he had drawn a perfect parallel between me and his father. I watch as my lost son curls up on the mattress. He's all an adult man by now, but right now he looks awfully young and vulnerable. It's like I'm getting an insight how a young Ryan would have reacted. How desirable this insight is, it hurts seeing it right now after all we put him through.

_**K.**_

Seeing my younger son like this makes my heart shatter into pieces and my maternal feelings take over. I go over to his mattress and lie down, cupping his curled body with mine, embracing him with one of my arms, stroking the back of his head with the other one.

"Everything's going to be fine. We might not have sorted out everything, but the core of the problem we did, and the rest has time. Only important is, what we've reached now: understanding each other and realising our mistakes. That's all we've been asking for." I let him know. I can't remember if he ever before had allowed me to come that close – physically but also mentally. I can't remember him showing this vulnerability any time before.

_**S.**_

"Yes man, I mean we've all gone a little bit crazy about the whole situation. We needed this blow up to come back to our senses." I let my brother know. I sit down on his bed, well aware that he'd kick my ass if he was well enough. He hated it when I was in or on his bed and I doubt this had changed. I hope it hasn't otherwise I have to find a new routine for getting his attention when he tries to ignore me.

_**K.**_

I look at my husband. In his eyes I can see the same vulnerability as in Ryan's eyes. I look at him encouragingly. It would be wrong if he wouldn't join us in this situation. It would keep him in an outsider position and this could neither be good for him nor for Ryan. Ryan and he have always shared a special bond. It seems wrong to me if we didn't try to repair what had been damaged by the time. Sandy eventually decides to come over to us and sits down at the foot of the bed.

_**S.**_

I sit down on the bed. It feels strange. It'll never be as it had been before. We've lost too many years in which happened to many things which tore us apart, but we can try a new beginning and I hope I can sort out what had happened between him and me some time. I don't expect miracles. I expect nothing at all. I only hope and that's what's driving me since I've got to know that he's back in our lives again. I pat his leg, but the flinch under my touch doesn't remain unnoticed.

"Sorry…" He whispers apologetic. I can't take it amiss. "I…just need to …come to terms." He answers. He has never been that open towards us. He used to keep everything in a hidden order. He didn't even confide in me in such a way, before it happened. I'm not sure, whether the fact that he's now open like a book to us, ought to make me worry.

"Come to terms with what, honey?" Kirsten asks him. My worry didn't go unnoticed.

"…the different shades of grey, especially the light greyish ones."

"You'll have time for that when you're finally home."

"Kirsten, look at me and tell that I look like someone who just gets into a plane and travels around. I…can't. These meds, just…it's like chemo in form of pills, what means I'm persistently intoxicating my body…I'm not getting a break anymore."

_**S.**_

I'd never thought that I would hate the day on which my brother would reveal his true feelings and conditions to us, reveal what's really wrong with him. But I do. I do, because it makes me so much more aware of the seriousness of this. I could blend out is pale complexion, the bruises on his arms and on the back of his hand, his neck. I could blend out the net of vessels and veins shining through his papyrus like skin and even the bold head. What I can't blend out is his confession. It's something he had never given to any of us before and now all cards are on the table. He doesn't have the strength to hide anymore. He has to ration what he has.

"You can rely on us, not solely on your strength. You only have to let us." My Mom tries to convince him. I can only pray for him being really strong enough. If Ryan already has doubts himself, I'm not sure whether it's a good idea to persuade him from something different, even though he might be able to rely on us now.


	25. In a Sudden

_**A/N: Many thanks to my Beta 6footer!  
**_

_**24. In a sudden **_– _our world can be turned upside down._

_**S.**_

I don't go back to Newport with my family. My way leads me to New York. I've already announced my visit to my mother. I hadn't thought I would meet with true genuine happiness at my arrival, but I do. I didn't count on my mother picking me up from the airport, but she does and as greeting she takes me into one of her bear hugs. Now I realise what my son must have been talking about when he complained about them in his teenage years, and at least now I know the source from which I learnt this hug.

"Sanford it's so good to see you." She tells me when she releases me from her arms.

"It's good to see you too, Mom." I tell her and then we make our way back home. Well, my old home. On our way to the apartment, I'm astonished that nothing seems to have changed. The buildings still look the same: there are the same red bricks, the same graffiti here and there a few new added ones. The road is still the same grey, wholly tarmac. It seems ages ago, since I had my first driving lesson on this street. New potholes let me know that I've missed parts of their history during my time away.

"So what's leading you the whole way from California back to the Bronx?" She asks me when we enter the apartment. It still looks the same, as if she hasn't changed a thing. Well, the curtains in front of the kitchen window are different and the set of chairs in the kitchen. The table is the same, as well as the walls. The kitchen is tidier. Well, there are no kids running around in this apartment. It's only my Mom who's left and I feel bad about it.

"What makes you think I need a special purpose for seeing my mother?" I ask her teasingly, well aware of the sting in her question.

"If you had wanted to see me, you would've dictated me to Newport and wouldn't have come all the way up here." She's right somehow.

"You remember Ryan, I guess?" I ask her.

"Ryan? The handsome boy you and Kirsten took in years ago? How could I forget these well trained arms? You haven't talked about him for ages. I hope everything's alright." My mother says.

"Well, we had a few rocky years and now I'm here to find his father." I let her know,leaving out the gap of a few years in our contact.

"I thought he was in jail."

"Well, now we found out the man we perceived for Ryan's father isn't his father."

"Oh, and why the sudden need for finding out who it is?"

"Ryan's sick…he needs a bone marrow donation." Now is all out. She looks shocked, but at the same time comprehending.

"Oh…how's Kirsten dealing?"

"She's holding her own quite well." I let her know. This concern for my wife astonishes me, but as well it shows me that the antipathy the two of them share against each other can't be the truth.

"And where's this mysterious man living?" She asks me.

"Actually not too far away.I thought I try to reach him tomorrow. On a Sunday the possibility to meet him is higher than on any other day."

"You're probably right about that. So what do you want to have for dinner?"

"Meatloaf?"

"I should have known this, right?" She laughs and gently slaps my head.

The evening flew by in a rush. There was so much we had to tell each other and it helped me to forget about the hopelessness of my mission. It made me forget the fact that I was walking the last path of hope which had remained open to me after my visit at the trailer park.

The next morning I make my way to the address. I didn't sleep well last night. I couldn't. I was thinking about how to approach this man. A 'hey, I'm your youngest son's foster father and we need some of your bone marrow' wouldn't make it. But what else was I supposed to say if not the truth? I have tossed and turned around in bed, but couldn't come to a conclusion. I have to come up with something from the scratch.

I knock on the door and wait. Thousand of sentences for how to start this conversation are running through my head, but none seems to be the right one. The door cracks open a bit, allowing me only to make out a small part of the face behind the door.

"Yeah?" The man asks in a harsh and hoarse voice, but still something familiar is swaying with it. One day back in New York and I fall victim of the sensitivities of nostalgia. I have to brace myself to not to roll my eyes about myself.

"Sandy Cohen, I'm here to talk to you about…" The door opens wholly in a rushed motion and the man behind it looks at me. A stranger and though such a familiar face. I have the feeling as if my heart misses a beat. I look into these eyes. Eyes I haven't seen for ages, the last time when I've been seven. He'd closed the door forever as it had seemed.

"Sanford?" He looks at me, not moving. I can't answer him. I have counted on everything, but not this. He has changed. He definitely has. Hell, I haven't seen him for over forty years.

"How did you know that I was here?" He asks me. I realize the question. I know I should answer it, but I can't. What to answer your father you haven't seen for decades? I didn't even know that he was still alive. I've erased him out of my life and now he pops up in it again, after all those years. Well, it's me popping up in front of his door. There's no difference. I should say something.

"I …I didn't." I stammer. In a sudden I realise something I don't want to be true. I can only hope that this is a misunderstanding. I must have the wrong address.

"Who else did you think you would find here?" He asks me again.

"I…dunno, but certainly not you." I answer. I start to slowly recover from my shock. I'm an adult man. I should be able to cope with this situation. I am and I will. This man, what does he mean to me? He had left me, without a word. He never called, cut all ties. This is just another man among all of the whole population. Nothing more. A sudden disappointment envelops me. This man didn't care where I've been for so long and now he cares about me staying in front of his door? I feel a rush of hatred burning through my veins. This fucking bastard. Why in Hell's name has he to occur now? I can't deal with it now. I have other things to think about. But there are so many questions swirling around in my head, going in hand with all states of frustration, sadness and disappointment.

"But you must've been looking for someone, or did you just knock occasionally on this door?" He asks me. Who the fuck is he, to ask such a stupid question? It's not like the whole situation is already awkward enough. He doesn't need to make it any worse as it already is.

"I was looking for a man who had been living in a trailer park in Fresno and might know this woman." I hand the picture to him, glad having won back my composure. I need to focus on the reason for why I'm here and this…oh my God. Please let him have a friend he's sharing his apartment with.

"Well, I've been living in Fresno for a while, and I…can remember having spent some precious time with this woman." He answers with a smirk. This doesn't proof anything. I don't know what I'm supposed to think about this. Shall I hope that he's Ryan's father, the only person that might be capable of helping him? Or shall I hope he isn't for my own sake? It would make things only worse and more difficult if…he…I …I feel as if I'm stuck in a never ending roller coaster speeding around in circles.

"Did you sleep with this woman?" I ask him, brushing my feeling aside. This isn't about me. This is about life and death.

"What chutzpah! You come here, without warning me in advance and now you want to know the details of my sex life?"

"If I'd had a telephone number I probably would have called in advance, but all I have is this address and now I'd be glad if you could answer my question." My frustration has reached a very new level. I've never felt so much anger at once that I have to use all my efforts for keeping myself from punching something or someone to pulp.

"Don't you think this is a little too much being asked for? I mean after all those years…"

"It's not my fault that I didn't hear or read from you during all those years. You took off without looking back and now you want what?"

"That you behave like a son and that we talk a little before you ask such an intimate question."

"Behaving like a son? No worries there. I would've already turned around and left, if this information wasn't that important for my son's well-being."

"What has your son to do with this?"

"My foster-son is the biological son of this woman and we need to find his father." I explain to him, slowly calming down again.

"Sleeping with this woman doesn't make me a father of her brat." It only needs such a statement from his mouth to make me boiling with rage. I haven't felt anything about this man for such a long time, and it only needs me facing him a few seconds to make me feel all kinds of hatred I have left in my repertoire.

"So you admit that you've been sleeping with her?"

"Yes, and now? How is this supposed to help?"

"I would ask you kindly to undergo a paternity test, so we can have certainty about this." I let him know.

"What? No, this is not going to happen."

"I'm not asking for fun, this is about life and death and we need to know whether you're his biological father. The boy is off age. He doesn't want any money. We only need to know whether you're his father." I want him to get the importance of this.

"Sanford, you can't show up on my threshold and demand a paternity test from me. How shall I know that this is not meant for some ulterior purpose?"

"You're still the same suspicious stubborn man you've been when you left."

"And you're still the rude boy you've been when I left." That's it. I'm not going to take it any longer. I turn around and leave. I won't allow him to insult my pride: my pride I've been working so hard for and without his help. He has no right to talk about me like that. He barely knows me, so do I know him.

When I enter my mom's apartment I catch her sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. I sit down in front of her, not even trying to be quiet. I want to disturb her, because I want her attention now. She puts the news paper aside and looks at me.

"Did you know that he was back here?" I ask her. It's not her fault and I shouldn't sound that harsh, but this incident has shaken my world and I don't know how to deal with it: with his sudden presence, with his rejection and with the fact that he's blocking the last hope I had – we had.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Father. Did you know that he was here?" There's a gap filled with heavy silence. I can see that my mother is evaluating what to say.

"Yes, I did." She finally comes up with the truth.

"And you didn't think it was necessary to let me know?" I ask her. I'm her son and this man's son as well. I had a right to know that my father was back.

"I was thinking about it and seeing you in such a state of rage, I know that I've made the right decision. It only would've hurt you."

"It hurts having met him without even knowing that I was going to do so."

"Sanford, you have to understand me. Your father hasn't changed. He's still the same man who left his children without second thought. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. I wanted to protect you from this experience. You would've come up here expecting that this man has changed, but he hasn't. I just wanted to protect you. You can't take this amiss. You're a father yourself, you know what I feel." She explains herself. I want to be angry, but after her explanationit's impossible. She's right. This man is still the same egoistic bastard, and she's right: I too, would have done everything to protect my sons from such an experience.

"And did you at least get what you were asking for?"

"He's refusing the paternity test and I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to be angry or relieved. It's not only that I faced my father after forty years, but also the dimension…of the results of such a test. It could mean that I have a brother in my son's age who I love like he was a son. It…would make things just unbearably difficult. What…had happened would get a whole different dimension."

"Sandy, don't worry about something that hadn't come out yet. He might not be…the father." She takes my hand. I know she only wants to reassure me, but this isn't working right now. I'm trapped between two solutions and I have to decide which one is the worst.

"If he's not…then…the possibility that we'll lose Ryan will increase exponentially with each passing day we don't find anyone else who might be a match." This situation is tearing me apart. I feel bad for hoping that he's not his father, because I doubt our relationship can bear anymore setbacks. This thought is egoistic and self-centred for sure. For Ryan's well-being I hope that he is his father so that he can save Ryan, and for once do something good to his family. But I'm afraid of it too. I would only be another family member that had let him down.

"So, no matter what the results would be, the outcome was uncomfortable." My Mom concludes without letting my hand free. "But what is worse: losing him forever, or losing him with an option of getting him back at some point of time?" She says and she's right. Nevertheless I doubt that in both situations I'll lose him, without any option of getting him back. Ryan had reached a state in which he had been more determined to not forgive anyone that easy as he used to do.


	26. Strength

_**A/N.: Thanks to my Beta 6footer and thanks for reading =)**_

* * *

_**25. Strength**_ – _is some kind of energy, but not of mere physical nature_

_**K.**_

The flight back to Newport was uneventful. Nevertheless it's obvious that it cost Ryan a lot of his strength. For two days he'd only left the bed for a visit to the bathroom. He didn't read or play video games with Seth. Her simply slept and I started to worry that he finally had lost all his strength. The more relief do I experience when I catch him in the kitchen, joining my son having breakfast.

"Hey, so good to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?" I ask him when he enters the kitchen. It feels so familiar with him and Seth sitting there at the kitchen counter.

"Uh…tired, but this is no news, right?" He answers.

"Don't worry; the PlayStation and I will keep you on your toes." My son says with a grin and I doubt no word of this sentence.

"Are you hungry? Shall I make you something for breakfast?" I ask him hopes up high that the glimpse of energy was not just the result of my vivid imagination.

"Uh…plain toast…can't keep anymore down." I blank out the last part of his answer and only concentrate on the fact that he voluntarily decided to eat something. He must feel better. He barely ate the last two days and now he starts with breakfast. I have to brace myself from jumping in the air. It's too soon. This might only be a last wave of strength which rushes through him this morning. I ignore the nagging question: how long if anything? And place a plate with two slices of toast on the counter next to where Seth is sitting. It nearly feels like in those old days in which our family had been sound. It's only an illusion. It'll never be that way again. I doubt that our family can be sound again with or without Ryan. He doesn't seem to be able to forgive this time and as unfair I think this is, after all the times he forgave his mother, I can't take it amiss.

"Dude, hurry up with your breakfast. I don't know how you're feeling about it, but I have a strange twitching in my thumb. I tell you: it's withdrawal. I don't have enough time for the real important things in life, since Uni started. But I have a day off. Enough time for PlayStation non-stop." Seth says. He hadn't changed a bit about his PlayStation. He's still as thrilled as he had been when it first emerged in our household.

"Don't you have a girl to take care of?" Ryan asks him curiously.

"Yes, she's the other reason why I don't have enough time for the real things in life, but fortunately she's having a Spa-weekend with her friend, leaving me free in my choices of how to spend the weekend." He answers. It's no secret that Summer has sided with her friend Marissa after Ryan had left. I'm not judging her, because she's my son's girlfriend and I can't wish for anyone better for him. On the other hand I have to think about Ryan's well-being as well and thus I'm not sad about her not sticking around too often anymore since Ryan came back to Newport.

"You know I'm out of training." Ryan replies and takes a sip from the orange juice I'd placed in front of him a few seconds ago.

"Well, after this marathon you won't be anymore." Seth answers with a grin. I admire him for his capability of acting as if everything was absolutely normal, although obviously it wasn't. I envy him for it. He always had been so innocent and never let negative things influence his feelings he carried about others.

"Ryan, don't forget about your treatment over this." I hate to be the bad cop, having to destroy the good mood, which is a way too rare companion for Ryan lately. I can't act any different. I'm not going to be a mother for him, but I also can't switch off the need to protect him. I have to find a balance between accepting the space he needs and satisfying my maternal feelings. It's horrible and every time when I feel the urge to take him into my arms to tell him that everything is going to be okay, I have to stop knowing he won't want me doing that. I have to wait for him to open up to me. He has to give me the 'go' before I can act like that.

"Right, then let me consider the whole breakfast as a waste of resources." Ryan states sarcastically. He tries not to let it get to him, but it's inevitable that it does. He's in a serious condition everybody would be frightened of. The more I know about him and his past, its effect on him and his behaviour, the less I understand his inability to let himself fall into the embrace of the family.

"Ryan, don't talk like that. You know how important it is for you to eat at least something." I let him know.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He says, gets up from the stool and disappears back to the room he's currently staying in.

"What was that?" My son asks me. I shrug my shoulders. I cannot read Ryan. His behaviour doesn't make any sense to me. At times he seems to be at ease and okay with us, and one second later he behaves like we were his biggest enemy.

"I go and ask him." My son says and disappears as well. I'm glad having him as mediator between us and Ryan. At least the relationship between the two of them seems to be okay.

_**S.**_

I go after Ryan. I don't even get what had been that annoying about what my Mom said to him.

"Hey Ryan, what was that?" I ask him when I enter the room he sleeps in now. It's strange. Nobody can consider it as Ryan's room. It's just the room he's staying in. It was a miracle if this would make him feel at home and as part of our family. Well, he had made clear that this family ship has sailed, but he could at least give it a try.

"Nothing. I'm just in no mood for any more 'you have to keep hoping and thinking positive lectures'. Face it Seth: there's nothing positive about this. Despite the fact that I'm puking my guts out every second day, everybody is acting that stiffly around me that I'm worried your folks might suffer from cramps. It's…just not as easy…it's pretty much the opposite…it's complicated." He lets me know. This is the Ryan I have to get used to. How long have I been begging him for talking such openly to me? The desire of knowing what's up his mind had been so burdensome, because I never knew how to behave in front of him. Now he lets me in on every single thought and even reveals some emotions, and even that doesn't help me to figure out how to behave appropriatly.

"And instead of putting all cards on the table you behave like an annoyed little kid and run away. Don't you think my Mom could understand you?" I ask him and sit down next to him on the bed.

"It's not as easy Seth. Your…Mom she's really trying and I can't keep telling her that she's failing, though."

"It's never going to be the same and we all understood that, but you have to help us understand the situation and handle it in a way that's comfortable for you."

"This is not only about me Seth."

"Right now it is. Look: we all admitted that we've failed you and we all try to make up for it, but instead we seem to make everything worse. You have to tell us how we can make you feel better about all this."

"There's nothing you, or your Mom or Dad could do. No matter what they do, it'll still be me the one who's sick and has to get these treatments, and it'll still be me the one waiting for a suitable match, and it'll still be me the one who has to put up with the consequences if they don't find someone."

_**S.**_

I decided to try a second attempt at my Dad's. My feelings are still not sorted out, but I have to put myself aside right now. This is about Ryan's life. I can't risk it, because of some sentimentality. I knock on the door. My father opens it again.

"You again?" He doesn't sound too happy about seeing me here.

"What do I have to do, to make you agree to the paternity test?" I ask him. I have no time to play mind games. Ryan has no time for that.

"I thought I was clear about my attitude towards this topic."

"There must be something you want. Everybody can be bribed. It's only a matter of price." I let him know. If spending so much time with Caleb had always seemed to be a time of agony, it has had its good moments. Caleb was a good teacher in bribing and blackmailing.

"You really think like that of me?" My father snorts. "I've always been a man with principles."

"I hope these principles will let you sleep peacefully when you find out that your stubbornness is responsible for the death of a young man." I say and turn around. The remains of a lost battle crush down on me like a landslide. Lost. There's nothing more I can do, despite waiting and hoping. I failed Ryan a second time and worse of all: this time it could cost his life.

"I won't take your money, and we'll make it here." I hear a voice. I don't process its message. I go on. I feel like the last soldier surviving an attack.

"Are you deaf? I said I'll do it!" My father screams. I can literately hear the click in my head. I turn around. No matter how lacking of empathy this guy is, it's still not enough for him to take the blame for someone's death. I turn around and look at him.

"I'll do it, but under my conditions."

"This is manageable."

"You know what this could mean, do you?" He asks me and I know what he's talking about.

"I know, but I can live with it. How about you?"

"I don't care."


	27. Lectures

_**A/N.: Big THANKS to beMeta 6footer =)  
**_

_**25. Lectures**_ – _we easily grow tired of listening to them, though each of them is valuable for our determination of life_

_**K.**_

I put my purse on the kitchen counter and pour myself a mug of coffee. I'm exhausted. This is exactly what I was afraid of: coming home alone after his treatment. Who had known that he'd been honest when he told us that he doesn't have any more strength left? I should have known that.

"Hey Mom, where's Ryan?" My son calls from the den. I know where he is. I can't speak it out loud. If I did, it'll become all so much worse. It's the same. It had been that way with my Mom and it'll be the same with Ryan. It's hard to keep up the hope, while watching a person you love fading away with every second, without having any help at hand.

"He's…he's at the hospital…some…he didn't tolerate the treatment that well today." I try to make it sound casual.

"He's…what?" Seth exclaims.

"He's still in hospital. I'm sorry, I should've called you, but there's nothing we can do. He's asleep now and they'll release him tomorrow. He just needs to rest a bit." I try to explain to him the situation. I have to cover up each scent of worry which may lie within such a message.

"But why? He used to come home after his treatments – a little groggy and such – but home. Why not today?" I can see the worry and fear in his eyes. We all know what this is supposed to mean.

"Seth, he's fighting this for over one year now. The doctors say it was a miracle that he held his own for so long. There's a limit. Everybody has one and Ryan…reached his. But this doesn't mean anything. He still can beat this. He's just more exhausted and depending on other people for help."

"Mom, we're talking about Ryan. He'll hate this."

"He knew that it would come like that one day. He…handles the situation bravely. So should we. He needs us to be strong for him."

"And why are you here now?"

"I need to call your Dad and Ryan's no minor. He doesn't want me to hover over him for hours."

"Is…is he going to be okay tomorrow?"

"He should be. I…I'm sure he will be." I tell him. I'm feeling like a liar. I don't know whether he'll be well tomorrow. I don't know whether he wants me to hover. He gave me permission to leave, and I took it as his signal for: I want to be alone, but I'm far away from being sure about it.

"This is not good, isn't it?"

"No it's not, but it's not yet bad enough for giving up hope."

"Do you think he would mind, if I visited him?"

"No, he wouldn't. Go and distract him from the nurses." I tell him, trying to lighten up the situation by the joke.

"Okay, I'm off then. See you later." And with these words he's gone out of the door. It's astonishing how the relationship between the two of them doesn't seem to have suffered under the past few years. I have to talk to Sandy. I tried to play down the situation, but I have to face the seriousness of it. I didn't want Seth to freak out, because it's obvious that he doesn't take it that easy, but I have to handle the situation like the one that it is. That's why I have to pressure Sandy to hurry.

I listen impatiently to the dial tone.

"_Sandy Cohen?_" I hear his voice and I feel relief, because this is the first step to accelerate the whole process of searching and finding.

"It's me."

"_Kirsten, so nice to hear your voice again._"

"Nice to hear your's too."

_**S.**_

"What's the matter for this call? Not that I don't appreciate you calling me more often, but I thought you were busy at those times."

"_I…I came home from the hospital a few minutes ago and…Ryan…he's not well. In fact, he's very weak…he collapsed after his treatment today and they kept him overnight. I…feel bad for pressuring you, but did this man agree to the paternity test?_" She asks me. I haven't told her that this man was my father, yet. Considering the whole situation at home, I doubt she would take this news well. Even I haven't digested them. How am I supposed to explain it well dosed to my wife? We don't know for fact that this man is his father and there's no need for worrying her about that. It's better waiting until we know something concrete. It's enough when one of us is wasting his energies with these worries and thoughts and different concepts of explanations.

"He did, but he won't come to California."

"_Sandy, didn't you listen to what I told you seconds ago? Ryan's in no state for another journey."_

"I know and…maybe the hospital can send a sample of his blood to the hospital here. They should do so. They know as well how important this is." I try to sooth her. It's useless. Since we brought Ryan home with us, the second time, she's in an indefinite agitation: always in the need for controlling and organising the even smallest occurrence and conduct at our home.

"_Okay, I'll go back and ask them for that. How high do you think the chances are that this man is his father?"_

"We're talking about Dawn, who seemed to have promiscuity tattooed on her forehead…so I wouldn't get too excited about this. I'm sorry to say that, but I just want to save us a bad awakening in case…in case he's not his father."

"_Oh God Sandy, I can't do this again."_

"Kirsten, I can imagine that this is hard for you, but he didn't ask us. You asked him and you can't …jerk him around. He is a human being, and I'm sure as hell that he has more feelings than he allows us to see. It's on us now." We've already inflicted enough pain on the boy's soul. He doesn't need anymore of it. I don't want to be the one who's sending him over the emotional edge.

"_I know Sandy. I thought it would be easier the second time around, but…it's not. It's…even harder this time and …I dunno. I should stop whining, because it had been my idea. It's just…"_

"It's Ryan we're talking about and seeing him weak and suffering and dependent makes this a whole lot worse than you had imagined. Still, Ryan's none of Seth's super heroes."

"_I know…listen, I rush back to the hospital. Maybe you can get his sample by tomorrow."_

"Okay, but be careful. Love you."

_**K.**_

"Love you too." And then I break up the line.

Thoughts are racing through my mind when I drive back to the hospital. How to explain to Ryan that we might have found his father? His cure? How to tell him that this is the last hope we have, and that the rest depends on the list of donors? How to explain to him that the blood of a man, he doesn't even know, determines whether he'll live or might die? I hate having the role of the messenger of bad news.

I enter the room with a doctor in tow. I knock, but don't wait for the permitting answer to enter and just open the door. Seth is telling Ryan about his different modules he's attending at the university.

"Sorry to interrupt the two of you, but I need to talk to Ryan." I say. Ryan's previously grinning face turns stern and concerned.

"Do you want me to leave?" Seth asks him.

"Uh…no…It's…nothing…I mean, I'm not in trouble or am I?" Ryan asks me suspicious, crooking his eyebrow the manner he used to do when he feared we might lecture him for something.

"No! No, you're not in trouble. The doctor just needs to draw a blood sample." Now he looks frowning at me. Oh no, I didn't want to rise his fears higher.

"Sandy found a man, who might be …your father." I let it out. I see his facial expression change, but not relaxing.

"Sorry, that I don't jump for joy at this, but I don't want my hopes getting up too high. At least I think eighty percent of this state's male population comes into consideration for that." At least I don't have to worry about some of the questions racing through my head. Should I be worried about his sarcasm? Ryan has never been the person for lacing his statements with a sarcastic tone.

"Would you mind?" The doctor steps forward. Ryan turns his head away. He doesn't like needles, and especially not those which steal his blood. I watch the doctor pricking the needle into one if the veins. Ryan hisses when the needles screws through his skin.

"All done." The doctor says when he patches a band aid over the location of puncture. "I'll send the sample to New York." The doctor says.

"Thanks, we really appreciate the effort."

"Good luck." The doctor replies and then leaves us alone.

I look at my two sons. Seth looks like rain had been washing all over his face. Ryan's face more or less remains empty, with a hint of strain.

"Did you know that …Frank wasn't your Dad?" Seth asks Ryan.

"Not until I got sick."

"Ryan, I understand that you don't want to raise your hopes, but…I don't want you to lose them." I tell him.

I watch the boys exchanging curious looks. It's Seth who throws a questioning look at Ryan, with a sideways glance into my direction. I can tell that he tries to not to make me notice it. I watch Ryan reply with an objecting glance. This is the usual interplay between them. Seth has an idea, Ryan isn't sure about it. Seth wants him to put the idea into actual action, and Ryan doesn't really want to.

"Okay boys, what is it?" I ask them to relieve them from their self made trap.

"Ryan wanted to ask you something." Seth answers.

"Seth!" Ryan hisses harshly. I look demanding at Ryan. I need to put on my professional stern mask to make Ryan tell me something he isn't approved of.

"It's…I…just wanted to ask…I mean, I feel better now and I really don't want to stay here." He admits.

"Ryan, you collapsed after your treatment. Your body tells you that…you're too weak right now and you have to respect that." I don't want to risk anything.

"I know and right now I'm so awfully drugged up that I won't even puke for the next few years. Kirsten, when you tell me that I'm too weak for …coming back to your's…it's like…I don't like this idea. I'm not ready for that, not yet when I still have a glimpse of hope left." He tells me. I doubt that architecture is the right thing to study for him. His rhetorical skills make him more suitable for being a lawyer, and I hate him for that. It leaves me speechless and robs me of arguments.

"Okay, I'll talk to the doctor and see what he has to say. But I won't promise anything. He has the final say and only when he agrees to letting you go, you can." It's harsh and seems a bit unfair and as if I don't want him around in my house. That's not true. It's the opposite:

I want him around, but not if the price means having him around for only a limited period of time. If I have to sacrifice his presence for gaining it back in a whole, then I'm more than happy doing so. It's obvious where my biological son got his self-centred genes from. The thought is selfish. It's not about my wishes and well-being, but about his and I have difficulties embracing the situation as one that isn't concerned with me in first place. I'm nothing more than a collateral purpose, an annex to Ryan's life. Probably I'm even less than an annex to him. I'm the person that tells him what to do and jerks him around from one place to another. This is not only what I do now, but it's exactly what I've been doing during all those years with him. I told him what he had to do and not what he should do. I didn't act like a mother, but like a commander. I told Seth what he should do to protect him. I told Ryan what he had to do, to protect my family – first and foremost to protect Seth.

Ryan's doctor isn't happy about Ryan's wish, but he can understand it. We both know that the dreadful experience of an overlong hospital stay is still ahead of Ryan. For his sake we should retard this experience for as long as possible. With his warnings the doctor reminds me of how close we are to enter into this period of pure waiting, endless hoping and enduring torture. The agony of the fear of knowing we might lose him turns into a real thing and not only some nagging thought in the back of my head.

"Okay Ryan," the doctor starts when he enters the room. "I'm not happy about your idea of leaving today, but I can understand it. So, when Mrs. Cohen agrees to it, I'm willing to discharge you under one condition: strictly bed rest."

"What about the couch in the living room?" Seth asks and I shoot disbelieving glances at him. This is no comedy show. The doctor looks puzzeled at me and all I can do is shrug my shoulders, until he turns towards the son who had asked the question. Ryan himself looks a little alienated too by this situation.

"I mean the TV screen in the living room is much bigger, and better for watching DVDs and playing some PlayStation. I just thought, you know, bed rest doesn't mean exclusively sleeping, right?" I roll my eyes. I can't believe that my son was really thinking about some triviality like that right now. On the other hand, it conceals some of the seriousness of the situation and expresses that he doesn't think of Ryan as a sick, but as a young man who has interests a young man has.

"Well, if you can promise me not to change your location every five minutes and can stay put long enough that you can consider it as resting, I'm okay with that as well. But although bed rest doesn't mean exclusively sleeping, it comes pretty close to it. So if you're feeling tired, don't force yourself to stay awake. Your body tells you exactly what it wants and what to do." He directs to Ryan. I can see that Ryan is tired of listening to all these lectures, as he must have been listening to them since he got sick. He must be sick of being sick and not being the commander, but being commanded by his body – or better pronounced: by a sickness.

"Yeah, I think I understood the message behind all these lectures." Ryan answers irritated.


	28. Right

_**A/N.: Thanks to my beta 6footer. have fun=)  
**_

_**26. Right**_ – _you can't make right, what others did wrong_

_**S.**_

I can't take my eyes off of the letter. This is worse than a never ending nightmare. I rub my eyes with my palms, hoping my vision might clear up disclosing the mistake I've been making the whole time, while reading the letter. My vision doesn't improve and the symbols don't change either. Not the words themselves worry me, but the sense behind their alignment.

"Sandy, don't worry. He probably was only as shocked as you are." My Mom tries to sooth the storm, which is raging inside of me.

"Mom, he looked at the result and shrugged it off, as if it meant nothing. He just left me standing in the middle of the corridor as if…these result were negative." I am angry. I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling right now. There is this agony of bickering paradox emotions: rage, because the way my father acted is unacceptable, versus the relieving equilibrium of knowing he won't treat his new found son differently from the rest of us; increasing hope, because there is actual hope for a cure, versus the fear that arises at the thought of having to explain the situation to him; happiness, because there has always been an undeniable connection between me and him, versus the additional tension which this might cause to what I have done to him.

"You know how he is." This is supposed to help me.

"I know. He left us without a word. So, how shall I interpret his reaction as a positive one? He had expressed more than clearly that he doesn't accept him as his son, as he never accepted us as his children." I conclude.

"But it's futile racking your brains about it too, because you can't change it."

"You don't understand this. Ryan doesn't need another father who doesn't give a shit about him."

"He doesn't know it different. I doubt he'll care when he finds out. He has you, he doesn't need someone else."

"Yeah, but I'm…his brother! I tried to be a father figure for him and then…I don't even know what this will mean to him, after what I did to him. It's just…"

"Twisted." My Mom finishes the sentence for me. This is weirder than twisted. It's all over crazy, and I'm sure if I told some shrink he would label me as a nutcase.

"Know what? We have dinner together and then you sit down and brood about how to approach the rest of this topic. He might ignore the fact that he has another son, but he's no murderer. He's stubborn as hell, but that he went with you and got this test done is the best prove that he has a heart, somewhere." My Mom is right. I doubt Ryan would want any contact with such a father. He had…sounded indifferent about this topic, so I doubt he'll be too enthusiastic to get to know his biological father. Anyway, he is a grown up man and now child anymore. He isn't in the need for a father figure. He needs his life back. That's the only thing that counts from now on.

The next morning I get my bearings back together and go back to him. I have to find out whether my mother only said the words for their sake of being words, or because she knew she was speaking the truth. I knock the all too familiar door. It's only a short time, but I already know who's hiding behind it. This door definitely has been witness of some important turning points.

"You again?" The man, my father, states blankly.

"Me again. I…wanted to talk to you about your…son." I reply in a similar blank attempt.

"There's nothing to talk about." He shoots back and wants to close the door. I react and put my foot between door and frame. A sigh erupts, a nagged one.

"You hid for over forty years from your responsibilities, and we let you, but I won't let you hide any longer, not on he expenses of…my brother." My heart is pounding under my throat, the blood rushes in my head giving me the feeling of too much oxygen and my stomach is flip-flopping while I refer to Ryan as my brother.

"What's so difficult about understanding three words? I. Don't. Care! I never cared. I never even wanted to have kids, but the self-righteous bitch of your mother was too sensitive to get an abortion done. I wanted none of you and your mother kept becoming pregnant." His confession hits me like a rock. What is he thinking? Or does he think at all? Externalising the whole responsibility and concealing his part under denial. It's the first time I realise that he's not much different from my clients in the P.D's office. It had never been their fault either. Bad fortune, no other way and other's people doing was to blame for what they were doing. I watch how the image of the man in front of me slowly converts into that of a delinquent.

"And you kept fucking around without protection, so you're not better than anyone else!" I scream back. I won't have him blaming my mother for having us. I for once am grateful that she did what she did. He's only mad. He had made his bed and she had forced him to lie in it, until he decided to leave her alone with his mistakes. How low is it from my side to think about my siblings, myself and Ryan as a mistake? We're no mistakes, but human beings who had no choice. We had no sayin this. Somebody else determined the point of time for our emergnce on the world's stage.

"It was an accident. Everybody could have been the father of that bastard."

"Don't call him that!"

"I call him what I want him to, you don't have to listen to it."

"Okay, call him what you want to, but he still needs you. I don't care if you turn your back on him, as you did on us. But if you do, he'll die and it's you who's to blame for it. Do you want to have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life? Is this really what you want?"

"You can only feel guilty if the person you feel it towards is actually meaning something to you, but he's nothing but a number for me. Not even that." After he said it, I take me foot out of the slide between door and frame and let him slam it shut, in the well formed certainty that he won't open it ever again, to any of us. Now it's me who has to make things right again. This operation is doomed to failure. I didn't even manage to make the beating and its prehistory right again. How am I supposed to get this straight too? The best thing for now was, if I went home and explain it to Kirsten. She'll understand and hopefully help me with the rest. I feel bad and guilty for putting her through this. She's already exhausted. I can see that everyday is a fight for her. She cannot handle watching another person she loves dying like that. But I can't do this alone. I promise her now that after everything is over, I'll invite her to a spa vacation, only the two of us. No stress and just getting spoiled. This is what she deserves and we both need it.

"It didn't go well, right?" My Mom asks when I enter her apartment. I shake my head and join her in the kitchen. She's preparing lunch. I'm not hungry and the sight if the food is enough to annoy my stomach even further.

"Need some tea?" She asks me with concern in her eyes. I nod. She knows me. I'm her son, and no matter how badly I've hurt her when I left for California without her permission or even a note, she'll never deny me being her son. She fully acknowledges me as such, although I caused trouble and hurt, even more after my father left. I gave her a hard time, especially as a teenager, and she still has my side. She never let me down and she's the best proof of that she never will.

"You know, this is no reason for losing hopes. Remember: you still have some siblings and I'm sure they'll get tested and help you, if one of them is tested positive." She assures me while she places the mug of hot steaming tea in front of me. My siblings.

"You think that a brother might be a suitable match?" I ask her. Why haven't I been thinking about this option?

"I don't know, but I'm certain that it won't harm getting them tested. You have to take all options you get." She says, sitting down opposite of me and taking my hands into hers.

"I can't believe that this didn't occur to me." I simply add.

"What? You didn't get tested?"

"Why? I'm a complete stranger. We all are. There was no real chance that one of us…" I trail of when I notice my mother's stern look.

"Anyone of the donor list would be a complete stranger as well. No matter how small a chance is, it still is a chance. You cannot reasonably explain to me, why you haven't been tested, any of you. What kind of family are you? I sometimes get the awful feeling that you don't care as much about Ryan, as you want to make me believe. All of you." The fury in her eyes is intimidating and I feel like the teenager I had been, after my mother got yet another call from school that I was beeing disrupting classes repeatedly. Reinforcement of discipline was the worse thing ever and I'm still afraid of it. Mother without mercy is what we used to call her when she had to rear one of us.

"Sorry Mom, but…when we found out about it…we were all overwhelmed. Despite we never thought we'd see Ryan again, we had to accept him being sick and watch him like a hawk not playing it down and actually taking care of himself. We were wrapped up in getting him accepting his illness that we couldn't even think about this." I try to justify my recklessness.

"And what now?"

"I have to tell him and Kirsten and Seth. This won't be easy, for any of us. Until now it was Caleb who was responsible for our curious patched family relationships."

"And self-pity won't help you. It might be painful, but you should go home as soon as possible and relieve your conscience. Putting it off will only make it worse."

"I'm afraid." I say plainly. There's no need for beating around the bush. I'm simply afraid that this will push Ryan even further away from our family.

"You don't have to. Ryan's smart. He'll understand."

"Yeah, he's smart, but he's also hurt. I'm not sure whether he'll understand this. It's like I'm the one who's loading his mind with more and more shit."

"But you're also the one who's helping him dealing with it."

"He won't let me. Kirsten is already struggling getting him accepting her help. We aren't his family anymore and he seems content with it. This here makes him inevitably part of the family, no matter how far away he is, and I doubt that he wants to be part of our family."

"Well, he has to accept it than and true greatness is revealed by forgiveness and acceptance. He's young, and might not be a master in those two, but he'll become more mature and then he'll understand. I'm sure he will. Give him some time, but don't let him close the door shut for ever."


	29. Counselling

_**Thanks to my beta 6footer who's not only a very good beta, but also a very good author too! And of course thanks for reading!  
**_

_**27. Counselling**_ – _the whole human mankind is fit for it_

_**R.**_

"You're kidding right?" I can't believe that, what he told me minutes ago was true. While he was telling me a wave of dizziness hit me, and I don't know whether the reason for it was the fact that I constantly feel like shit since months, or what he told me.

"I'm not." He says. I look at him, our eyes lock and I see what I haven't seen for so long: worry and concern. I feel the world spinning around me and his words are swirling around in my head. There is only confusion and no matter how clear the words were, I can't embrace them. I don't understand them, not their meaning. I take a deep breath, hoping this will clear my mind. I'm rubbing my temples in circles, hoping for relieve in my pounding head. Had this pounding been there before he told me, or is this just some kind of shock I'm in? Shock; This is the best explanation.

"But you don't have to worry. I and my…our older brothers will get tested and I'm sure one of us will be a suitable match and…" Sandy starts rambling, and even more words are dancing around in my head and I'm running short on space up there.

"Stop right there. This is not about the donation thing right now." Honestly, what is this about anyway? Sandy was the father figure I was craving for, since I can think about it. The desire of wanting him as my father never stopped, even after he behaved just like all the others. And now? Now I have to put him on the same level like Seth and Trey. How is this possible? He never had seemed like a brother to me. Like a friend, yes, but brother?

"And about what is this?" Kirsten asks me.

"I…I don't know, but this …is twisted, I…oh God." I can't express what's pressing against each wall from the inside, cracking what I've built up as protection and now making me want to explode. I try to find words so the pressure will subside, but I seem to choke on the few meaningless words I can express.

"Ryan, honey." I feel Kirsten's hand on my arm. I feel Sandy's pressuring look burning my skin. He wants a sensible reaction, but I can't offer him one. Hell, I need a sensible reaction from myself, but I can't find one. How to react when you find out that the man you've been picturing as your father for so long is actually your half brother? I'm Seth' uncle, how mad is that? And Kirsten? She'll never be a mother, because she's my sister in law. I feel sick. Nausea is slowly creeping into my guts.

"Ryan honey, say something." Kirsten starts pleading. I look at her, and I look into those never ending worried eyes. Since we met again, I haven't seen another expression than this concerned one and it makes me furious. Since I'm back, everyone's life is turning upside down again, and I can't but think that I might be one reason for that. I'm not only a reason. I'm the core of all those life shaking events. It's me who is sick and thus dictates the others' lives turning around my sickness, and added to that it's me who's having a half brother everybody used to refer to as my almighty father, who just turned out to lose it like everyone else. I feel the nausea win the battle over my still calm stomach.

"Sorry." I excuse myself and flee into direction of the bathroom. On the way my stomach performs flip flops and I my guts are churning. I can reach the toilet bowl just in time as my stomach starts to throw out what has settled in just half an hour ago. My stomach doesn't need long for getting rid of almost everything I've been eating over the last few days, as it nearly comes to nothing anyway. The only fight, which remains, is the one to calm down my stomach, which is still cramping. I take several deep shaky breaths. My nerves are on the edge. I never thought that such few sentences containing any mean words could get to me like that. Great, now I'm not only physically weak, but even mentally. Everything seems to be too much. I have to block the shit from others only because they're useless protecting themselves and now when I have to fight my own battle and really could use some peace and quiet time – me-time – another bomb explodes and my whole inner life, including thoughts and feelings, is shredded into pieces. It's not like it took me never ending time to get all this shit back into order. Everything is a mess again, and I know that I have to get it back into order if I want to make my peace with it, but I can't. How to?

I hear a soft knock on the door. I want to be alone right now, but I can't do this to them. Their expression told me that they've been at least as shocked as I've been. I can't run away from them, because this is not about me, it's about them as well and anyway, physically I'm not capable of anything right now.

"Are you okay Ryan?" I hear Kirsten asking me.

"Not sure." I answer her. This is absolutely pathetic. This is like begging for help. This can't be me talking. I never needed help with anything and I'm reluctant to be needy now. I watch the door crackling slightly open.

"Can I come in?" She's peaking through the slit that she'd opened. I shrug my shoulders, aware that she sees it and she'll take it as a 'yes'. She sits down next to me. It's strange. It used to be Sandy who came after me for 'the talk'. Now it's Kirsten and I've never thought it would be her I'd trust more.

"It's quite a shock, huh?" She asks me. I shrug my shoulders again, as I'm not ready for talking yet. Not only because I'm lacking of matching words for expressing what I feel, but also because my head isn't clear yet.

"But you know nothing is going to change, unless you want it to. We're still the older ones and thus the ones, who have to take care of the young ones. We …should consider this as some kind of confirmation of our family. We are undeniably a family."

"Right and …exactly this is the problem." I spout out.

"Well, given the fact of what had happened, I don't blame you. You gave up hope on us being a family and I understand it. But maybe this is another argument for giving us a second chance."

"You're talking about chances, but would you mind to explain to me, what exactly this chance is supposed to look like, as letting you back into my life and allowing you to treat me like a handicapped child doesn't seem to be enough for you." I didn't mean to sound bitter, but right now I don't have control over this. I've lost the ability of covering up my emotions years ago, at minimum when I started to be sick. There is the urgent need to get the truth out as long as it is possible. I don't want to leave people in limbo they never can escape from, because I didn't talk the truth when I've been still able to. It's not because it is unfair, but it's what I wanted if it wasn't me who was actually dying, if I was the one remaining. There shouldn't be any unanswered question, though I don't believe in ghosts or anything like that. Therefore I shouldn't care about things like that, but I care about the people and I don't want to leave them restless. They deserve the peace after I'm gone. It is as simple like that.

"Hey, what's this supposed to mean? I thought we had called truce. I thought we had worked things out, and now that?"

"It just doesn't feel right anymore, no matter how hard I try and now with this news on top, I doubt I can even force myself for making it feel right. I can't any longer pretend anything."

"So you've been pretending all the time."

"No…well, I'm not sure. Look: you're friends, very good friends, but that's all I can feel for you. I'll never be able to feel for you as my family. But with this above my head I feel obliged to feel that, but I just can't." It's so hard to explain these things to someone, who has an entire different point of view of things. She didn't live what I lived. It's impossible for her to understand.

"And you couldn't have said something earlier? I mean, it would have made a lot of things easier for me – us. I'd known when to back off and what to expect and probably had lowered my expectations in you." She's scolding me and I can understand it. For months they were walking like on egg shells around me, only because I'm some kind of ticking time bomb nobody is sure whether it'll explode some time or not.

"No, I couldn't. I'm sorry, but for me it's not as easy to…somehow make sense out of my emotions."

"Because that's so difficult." The irony in her sentence doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"Yes, for me it is. My Mom never comforted me and asked me what was wrong, when I was sad. I got a beating instead. Nobody ever made an effort to find out what was making me angry, beating me up instead, and when I came here nothing changed. Your and Sandy's outburst were nothing different. When I expressed my concerns about what was going on I was screamed at, slapped into the face and insulted. Not that you ever showed too much concern about how I felt anyway, 'cause every teenager enjoys being abandoned by his mother and put into an environment in which he converts from human being into an alien. I was entirely alienated and nobody cared. Nobody cared that I didn't fit in, let alone from helping me to fit in a way which didn't make me forget who I was. Everybody kept and keeps stomping on my feelings, but never anybody cared helping me to cope with them. And learning it now is a fucking hard process and instead of supporting me, you blame me, because it doesn't go fast enough for you. I'm sorry, but I simply didn't learn how to express my emotions and how to find out what they're telling me, or where they're coming from." I have to get rid of this, because for far too long it felt like poison intoxicating my mind and body. I needed to purge my system from this. It made me sick. I can only hope that she understands now and that this is enough for her. I can't give her more, not now.

"Did you get counselling?" I should have seen this coming.

"I had some trouble in my first semester…well…and my professors said if I wanted to stay, I had to give it a shot. Hadn't been my favourite course, but it helped me to understand some things, though." I admit.

"I'm an asshole." I'm stunned; these words from her mouth? What's that? I look at her confused.

"I knew from the beginning that you're life before us hadn't been peachy and I listened to it with my own ears and I saw it with my own eyes. I know that life here had been far away from being nice, after I started drinking and I can remember every single mean word I said to you and every inappropriate name I called you and every accusation I made about you. But still. I can't warp my head around that fact that you're different from Seth and all the other kids around here. I still expect you to behave and react like them. I'm stupid." Wow, Kirsten Cohen blaming herself for something. I've never witnessed that before. This is odd and awkward at the same time. And it's cruel. It's easy to say 'yes' and tell her, it's her fault, but I cannot deny my own responsibility. My silence about my past life and how I experienced it caused some of the uneasiness between all of us.

"Let's share the blame. I could have been more explicit about how I grew up. Probably would've saved some of the trouble we went through." I watch her cracking a smile. At least I rescued this situation. She shifts a little closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"You said friends?"

"Very good friends" I reply.

"Very good friends, like you and Seth are?"

"We're rather like a symbiosis, but yeah."

"I think I can live with that, 'cause I don't have to change my behaviour then." She smirks.

"Yeah, being babbly and clingy must be genetic."

"I take it that everything is okay again?"

"Not yet, I think I need to go out for a while." Otherwise the roof will collapse above my head.

"Ryan?"

"I won't run away, I'll go with Seth. He'll probably have a lot of inappropriate comments about this upon his sleeve."

"This might be true."


	30. Pride

_**28. Pride**_ – _lets us do things for the wrong reasons_

_**S.**_

"Short speaking: you're my uncle, right?" I ask Ryan. I couldn't believe it when Ryan told me about his genetic and blood relation to my father. I couldn't have thought about people being more different than the two of them. They don't even look related to each other.

"Shut up Seth, I don't even want to think about this."

"Hey, I'm not the worse nephew you can have." I add. I need to talk about this as long as I have digested this news. My best friend and thought brother is in reality my uncle. Somehow, this sounds cool, because it means that we're related to each other for real and we don't have to pretend being a family anymore, because we are one.

"Well, then prove it and stop drawing a family tree. It's weird enough for me. I don't need to get reminded of it every second." He sounds grumpy. I should be able to imagine why but I can't. This cannot be still related to what happened between him and Dad, or?

"At least, the good thing about this is that my Dad is your brother and thus you gained the right to officially punch back. You know, like Romulus and Remus, Kayn and Abel."

"Yeah, great comparison. Brotherly hatred leading to fratricide. Not really desirable in my opinion."

"Dude, who told you to look solely on the negative side of the story? I mean, think positively…"

"I don't know what is positive about having a brother, who's twenty-nine years older and whom I didn't know about." Man, he's really a tough nut to crack. I don't think he's supposed to dwell in negativism. This can't be good for his health.

"Damn it Ryan. I mean, excluding the fight between you and my Dad, which by the way now has a complete different dimension, I'd say that my Dad isn't the worse brother to have." I try to convince him. Truth, this is not only about getting him to think positively about the whole thing, but also about stopping him from acting like my father is some kind of monster. He had made some mistakes - server mistakes, and I can understand that Ryan is hurt, but my father isn't a bad person from head to toe. He has had a bad phase, but he tries hard to make up for it and I think Ryan had been pouting enough. My father deserves another chance and Ryan has to stop acting like an annoying kid, throwing a tantrum. I just can't stand it any longer. Ryan has had his time for sulking.

"Know what? It's time for being a man and to stop being a sissy." I pronounce my former thought aloud, before I leave the diner. I really love Ryan like a brother, but I can't put up with his behaviour and he has to realise that he has overstepped the border between reasonableness and resentfulness.

"Seth! Wait." I hear him calling after me. I must have pressed the right button, when he thinks it's necessary to run after me for making his point clear. I don't answer him and I don't slow down. It's on him now to fight for a 'we' and 'us'. The silent treatment won't hurt him. The master of the silent treatment himself seems to have forgotten that the world is not only turning around him. And people consider me as being self-centred.

"Seth, could you please slow down!" He calls after me. Why would I? I turn around and watch him bended over his knees, struggling for breath. Shit. How could I've forgotten about that? I walk up to him. Great. I wanted to give him a bad conscience, but not to myself. This wasn't the plan.

"Sorry, didn't think about…you know. You okay?" I ask him. He nods.

"I can understand that you're upset about my behaviour, but you got the wrong end of the stick this time." He starts talking. We sit down on a bench, eyes locked onto the horizon and ocean.

"It's not that I don't want you father as brother. In fact, I couldn't think of a better brother than him. The thing is that I can't stop thinking about how my life would have been, if I'd known about your father earlier. If I'd known that I have such a brother with such a great family, who knows whether I would have been sleeping in the streets for so many nights, or whether Trey and I would have tried to steal that car. I mean, I can't stop thinking that then there might have been someone to turn to, who might have helped us and given us advice."

His honesty about his inner world keeps astonishing me. He never had seemed like someone being really thoughtful about these things, but he is.

"Why don't you tell my Dad this? He'd understand it."

"Cause it took some time for me to realise this."

"Man, you're really slow. Ever considered seeing a shrink?"

"Well, he calls it an impairment of my emotional self-reflection."

"No further questions asked." At least none that I can ask him. But I can't ignore the question which is racing through my head. How despaired must he have been, when he went voluntarily to see a shrink?

We enter the house. My parents are sitting in the den. They probably have been waiting for us. Their control fad is driving me crazy.

"There you are. Everything alright?" Mom asks us.

"Guess so." Ryan replies.

"Do you want anything to eat? We have some leftovers." She suggests.

"We ate at the diner." Ryan answer.

"I ate at the diner, this mister here for once, didn't eat anything at all." I interrupt him. He looks as if he could use something to eat. Kid Chino doesn't exist anymore, neither mentally or physically. The only thing left is a scrawny pale shell of what once had been an ideal for me: a fighter who didn't allow anyone or anything getting him down. Now he seems to back off into his corner at the slightest crisis. I'm disappointed. The Ryan my father brought home once would have punched someone into the face and done some heavy brooding, but then everything would have been solved. This Ryan seems to be worse than Newport's personal drama queen, also known as Marissa Cooper. Everything's a drama and nothing can be solved the easy way. Everything's a huge crisis he seems to collapse under.

"Ryan, you're eating less and less each day." Mom comments.

"I feel less like eating each day too."

"But do you think you could still manage to eat something?"

"I'll try." He sighs in defeat. This histrionic behaviour doesn't match Ryan at all.

_**R.**_

"I'll make you some apple rice." I know she means it in all the good ways one can mean this, but I'm sure it won't hurt to put a new choice on my diet plan.

"Dude, there's nothing that can disgust you, right?" Seth asks. I answer with my glare. A poor attempt, because I know that it doesn't have the same effect it had when I've been still healthy.

"It's the only thing that doesn't get thrown out by my stomach."

"Here you go." Kirsten says and hands me a bowl of piled rice. I can say I won't eat it all, because I never eat more than half of it, but Kirsten keeps preparing more. Just in case, as she says.

"So…did it help? I mean, did you find a way of coping with this …situation?" Sandy asks curious. I notice that he's still afraid of saying too much or pushing matters too hard. He's not behaving like the other guys who used to give me hell. He's different from them, too afraid that the little bond which has build between us again might be cut by one single word too much.

"I'm not sure, yet." I answer him. I don't want to get their hopes up too high. The slow process of understanding makes me realise that the only thing they want is to be a part of my life and play as such a big role, as they can. It also tells me that after all the effort they've put up with during the whole time some kind of frustration has built, because things didn't go as they wished them to. Although I know that it's not my entire fault, I can't deny a partial responsibility.

"Tell him, what you told me." Seth starts pushing me, something I can't stand at all.

"What did you tell Seth?" Sandy asks me now, and I wish I could kill Seth, just this one time and I promise I won't do it again. I open my mouth, but ended up shutting it again. I'm at a loss of words. I don't know why it annoys me. It's not that I never experienced this feeling before, but somehow it's awfully irritating when I want to talk truce to Sandy or Kirsten. I feel the urging pressure to fill them in, eventually giving them what they want – something I want too, but cannot admit to myself right now.

_**S.**_

"Ryan, c'mon. It's just words. Nothing I won't be able to put up with. You know I'm a lawyer. I'm used to harsh words. Believe me; I'll get the message, even if you think you didn't choose the right words or phrases to transmit it." This is what I've been waiting for. My father eventually manages to talk to Ryan the way someone needs to talk to Ryan: supportingly and encouragingly. Dad finally left his fear built shell and approaches Ryan in a proper warm-heartedly way. This is the best way for them to sort out what's standing between them, and hopefully this brings our lives back to normal. I can't take this chaos any longer.

"Ryan?" My Dad asks again and the expression on Ryan's face tells me that he won't find the right words today. But I can't wait for it longer. I want this to end, no matter how selfish this sounds.

"He has trouble dealing with the idea of what might have happened if he had found out earlier about your existence and that you are related to each other, whether things would still have turned out to be that bad."

_**R.**_

I'm not sure whether I'm grateful for Seth doing my job or whether I want to kill him right away – choking him.

"Is that true Ryan? Because if it was, I think you have all right to ask such questions. I, for my part, have been asking myself the same thing. If I'd known, would I've been able to help you and your brother earlier, or would the thing which stands between us have happened, or not? I'm asking myself these questions. The thing is, we'll never get the answer and we have to forget these questions and start to live with the new gained knowledge the best way we can. We probably have only to accept this fact and then go on with our lives." I get the message behind his words, but my brains can't process them. I put the bowl onto the table. I've lost my appetite months ago anyway, and I don't feel like eating any more of that either.

"Sorry, I need time to digest this. It's not so easy for me." I apologize and then get up, but a wave of dizziness forces me back down.

"You okay?" Sandy asks.

"Yeah, just got up too fast." I say and start a new attempt. My legs feel weak and I hear the blood circulating in my ears. I use the arm of the couch as support while I get up. My legs can't push my weight up by themselves. When I'm on my feet I need some time to regain some strength to actually move forward. Hell, I am sick of this. I witness how I become weaker and more dependent each day. Watching this is even worse than the treatments including their side effects.

"You sure, you don't need any help?" Sandy asks once again. I probably should say 'yes', but the remaining pride mixed with my confusion about how to behave in front of him now, where we're officially and biologically brothers, let me stay mute about this question. I slowly make my way out of the living room. It's only a short way. A short way, without any wall or furniture I could use as support. I beg for my legs not to let me down. It's awful if you can't trust your body. When I'm sure that I've managed it successfully into the entrance hall, invisible from the living room, I lean against the cold stony wall and slide down. My legs betrayed me. They don't listen to my commands anymore, and the fearful certainty that this isn't only a one-day-strike, crawls up my spine. With my legs' incapability to carry me from place to place, I've lost my last bit of independence I had left. I can't circumvent asking for help and the painful insecurity which comes with the need to trust those people around me. The few meters caused an unbearable exhaustion. Shit, I used to work constructions and now I even can't walk a few meters.

"Oh my God Ryan, is everything okay?" It's Sandy. He must have the seventh sense. How else does he always appear when someone needs help - any kind of help? I look at him, reluctant to answer that question.

_**S.**_

After my father's exclamation my Mom and I get hurriedly up to see what has happened. I watch Ryan sitting on the cold floor of the entrance hall and Dad kneeling beside me. I cast a glance at my mother next to me, who's covering her mouth with one hand, making her expression look even more shocked. This is it, I guess. This is the sign that Ryan really needs some help now. This is truth, no game. The extent of seriousness of his illness hits me like a sledgehammer. Ryan, a man who used to be stronger than the water polo team, and insensitive to any pain, now can't even walk anymore. All attributes making Ryan being Ryan are gone. He has no strength, power or energy left. Even his broodiness has vanished, and I have trouble to accept this Ryan as Ryan. But I need him. Who knows how bad things would have gotten, if he hadn't been there in Mom's alcoholic time. Who knows how badly Dad would have flipped, if Ryan hadn't tried to make him brace himself, day after day. He was the only one, helping me cope with the situation, staying by my side, telling me how to see things, and explaining me the meaning of what was going on. Even after he'd left, it was him who helped me through to this with his e-mails. He was the one telling me to carry on, forgiving my Mom and trying to understand my parents' view points. Without him, I probably would have gone nuts around here. I need him. He's my sheet anchor, and I'm a selfish little brat and self-centred bastard. How come, I think about me without him, whilst it should be about him?

_**R.**_

"Okay Ryan, do you need help to get up, or do you think you can do it on your own?" Sandy asks me carefully. He's still good in making you feel little more comfortable in situations of pure discomfort. From the angle of my eyes I watch Seth's horrified expression, and Kirsten's sad glances which she throws at Sandy. I can't admit that I need help and try myself to get up again, using the wall in my back as support. I'm half way up, when my knees start to buckle and I start sliding down again. It's Sandy's hands which grab me by my shoulder and arm, before I hit the floor.

_**S.**_

"Well, I take this as a 'no'." My father says when we watch Ryan struggling upright, but losing the fight. I'm torn. I want to help him, but I don't want to intrude his space of independence. I make a step forward, but my Mom's hand pulls me slightly back. I stay put and watch my father helping Ryan up – helping him with something, which is supposed to be a naturally thing.

_**R.**_

"Thanks." I reply quietly. I need to admit, but first I have to admit it to myself, but I can't. My pride is the only thing I have left, and I don't want to lose it too.

"Let's get you upstairs and to bed. I think that's the place for you to be." Sandy says, wraps one arm around my waist, while I put one arm around his shoulder. The evidence screams guilty in all charges. A plea of guilty could let the verdict turn out moderate. Shit, I should stop this.

We finally make it to the bedroom, and I let myself drop onto the bed, exhausted. I feel like I've been running a marathon: my heart's racing, my pulse beating violently against my neck and head and my breath goes fast.

"You know, you could safe your pride, if you'd actually admit that you need help. There's nothing dishonourable in that question."

_**S.**_

I try to talk some sense and especially some courage into the boy. He needs it. It hurts to watch him suffering silently like that. My mission is: getting him to trust us. That way he can ask fearlessly for help. He stays silent. I notice that I won't receive an answer and sit down next to him, closing the grudge.

"You know, everyone has to ask for help from time to time. Some have to ask for more help than others, but nobody can live without any sort of help. Look, you helped Seth for a very long time. I know he asked for it. He asked you to stay with him, because he knew he needed you to cope with the situation. You helped Kirsten and me as well. We might not have asked for this help, and this is which makes it feel awful. Not admitting that we needed help, and pretending nothing was wrong was the worse thing we could have done in that situation, because everything was wrong. Hurting those around you and hiding from the battle is dishonourable, because it does more damage than good. But facing the problem, trying to solve it and fighting your demons, is honourable." I have to get him out of his hole of wounded pride.

"Easier said than done."

"Wanna know what I guess, you're thinking about this situation? You're thinking of yourself as a nursing case, which is generally associated with old, demented people who are mainly treated like children and thus get robbed their last remaining dignity. You're afraid of ending up like that and being seen like that, right?" It feels good to have won back an access to him. I got his tacit permission to talk to him. Now I have to make use of it and show him that I'm there, no matter as what: as brother or father. I'm okay with both of it. It won't change my feelings for him anyway.

_**R.**_

The atmosphere between us is more comfortable now, where Sandy can talk freely around me and to me. This takes away the strain that had been lingering between us for a while. He still owns the ability to loosen the knots in my brains, hindering me from thinking and feeling clearly. He helps me to find another view point, or analysing my view point.

"Wouldn't you be afraid of that too?" I ask him. It's senseless pretending, after he rumbled me.

"No. I won't be afraid of that, because I know, as long as I have you, Kirsten, Seth, my Mom, damn even as long I have Caleb around, I won't have to be afraid of it. I can trust them that they won't let it happen to me, and you should trust us like that as well. As long as we are around nobody only dares treating you like a child-like nursing case. Got it?"

I nod, because I can't bring myself to say 'yes'. It's too early for admitting trust. Trust, I'm forced to have into them.

"Okay, when this is settled I suggest you getting some sleep. Things will be a lot clearer afterwards, so sleep tight." He says when he stands at the door.

"Sandy?"

"What's up?"

"You know that I'm no teenager anymore, do you?"

"That doesn't make you any less my little brother and my son."


	31. Fading

_A/N: Thanks for still reading this and even leaving a review! And of course a big thank you to 6footer who has betad for me =)_

* * *

_**29. Fading**_ – _with each day we leave this place a little more_

_**K.**_

Time flies by. Sandy would be a match for Ryan's donation, but there are still too many cancer cells dancing around in his body. He can't get the transplant now. I watch him sleeping. That's what he's doing most of the time now. When he can stay awake for more than an hour in a row we can consider it as a good day. At least he has accepted us being around him. The whole family takes care of him. We'll never leave him alone at home. He won't survive on his own. He's so pale and thin. He looks like a skeleton. There's nothing left from the healthy and well shaped boy he had been. He's nothing more than pale skin, veins and fragile bones, which can't carry him anywhere. At this thought my glance wonders over to the wheel chair at his bedside. This, or Sandy's or my father's man power, are his mobility. He's too weak to walk even from his bed to the bathroom. It's awful to watch him fading. Everyday he's less: less strong, less body, less awake, until nothing is left. I can't think of it, but these thoughts are inevitable. His doctors don't give us reasons for much hope. Ryan is just too weak and the cancer is way too strong. The worse is: it's not the cancer that made him weak like that. It's the treatment, which was supposed to help him recover. When I realised how bad it was about him, when Ryan collapsed in the entrance hall of our home, I started crying. Not in front of him, because I didn't want to distress him, but at night, in my bed. Lying next to Sandy, my husband, and listening to his light banter about hope and that the battle wasn't lost yet, made me sad. It's hard to keep the façade of hope upright, while witnessing day after day that it keeps shrinking. The positive thoughts are more and more replaced my negative ones, and hence staying positive is a tough challenge. I'm glad that Seth is around more often now. He seems to have realised the hurtful seriousness of the situation as well. He keeps our mood up, and all for most he keeps Ryan's up, not letting him fall into a hole of depression. What amazes me is that Ryan allows Seth to cheer him up. He has stopped fighting and accepts us now. Still it is strange that he gets along that good with my father. Sandy is still jealous about the relationship the two of them have, but it's easy to explain, why for Ryan it's so much easier to confide into my father than into him. My father had never pretended to be or do something, not taking into account other peoples' feelings. He's a thoroughly honest person and Ryan knows that. Ryan has won his trust to Sandy back and they can talk to each other and Sandy has gotten back his ability to read Ryan and speak out aloud what Ryan's hiding. Their relationship of trust has experienced a major fracture though, and Sandy has to live with it. I watch Ryan's body shifting in bed and I walk over to him. He opens his eyes. They are clouded. Their colour is more greyish than blue. I miss this sparkling blue.

"Hey." He whispers. His voice is hoarse from all the puking, and it's weak. I can hear his exhaustion.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask him. He has had a treatment a few hours ago, and since we've come home, he hadn't been awake. He shakes his hand in a wavy motion: so and so.

"Would you like something to drink?" I ask, already pouring some juice into the glass on the nightstand. He doesn't have a choice. He needs to stay hydrated otherwise he'll be back in hospital sooner he wants to. He takes the glass with shaking hands and takes small sips. He has to be careful, no matter what he does.

"Wanna go back to sleep?" I ask him carefully.

"Nah…how about the chance to get me down stairs, before I suffer a serious case of cabin fever?" He asks me back. I'm relieved that he doesn't fall into a hole of hebetude.

"I think we can do that." I let him know. I'm happy he doesn't retread depressed in this room, but seeks the company. I never could have imagined him being such a social person, but in fact he is. He's only awfully shy and it not only needs a lot of time to melt the ice, but also a lot of warm-hearted talk to encourage him taking the indicative on his own.

_**R.**_

I sit up and get prepared for the trip down stairs. It's only a few meters to the den, but just getting down the stairs is a huge effort for me. I sit on the edge of the bed and try to push myself up onto my feet. I ignore the wheel chair which is standing at the side. The phase of embarrassment already subsided. It's a thing of need, and I can't defend myself against it. Acceptance, in capital letters, became my motto. It's useless hiding and fighting the inevitable.

I have to hold onto the bed when I'm on my feet. I try to stagger towards the bathroom. It's not far. I should make that. I'm not that crippled yet. I can do it. I put the first feet in front of the other one. The first step is done. I only need ten or twelve more. I can make it. I take the next step. Carefully. I have to wait for keeping my balance. I don't want to fall. I have enough bruises and the whiteness of my skin makes them so much more obvious. The third step is a crucial one, because now I'm standing in free space: nothing to hold onto. I have to be very careful, and although I should be glad to have managed already three steps, I'm annoyed at the time it takes me to actually get to the bathroom. The fourth step and I feel how my heart starts racing and sweat trickles down my temples. This can't be true. Not now. This never happened that early. Yesterday I could make it to the middle of the way, before I started sweating. I take the fifth step.

"Hey, Ryan!" A dark male voice bursts into the room. I turn my head back in a reflex, not looking at my step. I feel how my leg starts to buckle. I search for something to hold onto for support, but my hands touch into the emptiness of the room, and I find myself in a free fall.

"Oh no." I hear the voice again, and than firm hands grabbing me at both of my shoulders before I can meet with the floor.

"Where did you think you're going?" The voice asks me, when I'm back on steady – supported – feet. It's Caleb. Now I am too embarrassed to say it and only nod into the directions of the bathroom.

_**C.**_

"Ah…okay, then let's go." I reply, not letting him see that I've noticed his slight embarrassment about the situation. It's painful to see a young and former strong man like him being dependent as if he was a hundred. If someone was supposed to start to be needy then it was me. I have reached a good age and I have fulfilled my dreams. I have no open plans left. I've realised all of them. I can enjoy watching them thrive. I can close my eyes forever without regrets and wishes, but this boy! Hell, he has so much ahead of him. I can see that there's still the fire of life burning in his eyes. He isn't ready. I help him to the bathroom door.

"You okay from here?" I ask him. I don't want him to see the pity that flooded me after what I've seen.

"Hope so."

His face is defeated when he steps out of the bathroom. I can't even express how this must have felt for him. He used to value his privacy highest and now? He can't even keep that. This damn disease is not only taking away the health, but all elements accounting for human dignity as well.

"Okay, still ready for getting downstairs?"

"Yap." It's the same procedure as usual: I steady him with a tight grip around his waist, and he tries to support himself with the help of my shoulders. We slowly make our way to the den, where he settles down on the sofa, exhausted.

"Maybe it'll be better if you wait for help, before you get out of the bed." I warn Ryan. It's a harsh way to approach this topic, but we're both men of little sentimentality. There's no need for wrapping everything into nice shiny words, whilst the content isn't nice and shiny at all.

"Yeah, great. I'll think of it."

"Do you want anything special for dinner?"

"Don't know, but preferably nothing including rice and apples, and especially not in this combination." He replies.

"Well, we can order Mexican then." As he's throwing up anything he eats anyway, he at least should eat something he enjoys eating.

_**K.**_

The evening passes by uneventfully. I watch Ryan and my father talk to each other. When Ryan first came to live with us I've never thought about this being possible. But indeed, it is. I can lean back and relax a little. Things went smooth for a while and I'm thankful for it. After Sandy told Ryan about their relation things had been a bit bumpy, but it smoothed down soon and life was as it was before. My father took me aside to let me in into the previous encounter with Ryan. He's getting weaker and weaker and all we can do is watch and hope. My hope rises a little, when I notice that Ryan enjoys dinner with us and later sits together with us, without his usual emergency trip to the bathroom. But his presence doesn't last long, and soon he's exhausted and asks my father to help him back upstairs. I should be glad about his late energy, but it's not enough for me.

_**C.**_

I stay and wait for Ryan emerging from the bathroom, just in case he'll need me again. He opens the door and comes out slowly.

"Do you need any help?" I ask him. He wants the proof that he's still independent, but I watch him staggering and in a reflex I'm by his side and help him to bed.

"Do you need anything else?" I check, before I'll leave him.

_**R.**_

"No, I'm fine, thanks." I answer, but with my thoughts I'm not with him anymore. I don't know what to do. I only know that I don't want this anymore. I feel their looks, though not pitiful, but still concerned. I don't want them watching me helplessly falling apart. They shouldn't be bothered by that. I can see that it's hurting them and I don't want them to hurt. It hurts me to watch them pulling their legs out, only to make this more comfortable for me, without succeeding. This is not fair and they don't deserve it. These are the last people who deserve to watch this. I don't want them to.

"What's on your mind?" Caleb asks me, dragging me out of my thoughts I got lost in.

"I think I don't want this anymore." I answer him, not even thinking about what this sentence might mean to someone who isn't in my head.

"You what? Ryan, you can't give up now!" He answers shocked. Shit. I really should have chosen my words wiser than this.

"No, no you got it wrong. What I mean is that I don't want you to take care of me any longer." I try to rephrase my idea, but still meet a sceptical face.

"I think I still don't understand what you mean."

"Look, I can't even manage going to the bathroom on my own. It's depressing and it keeps getting even more depressing. I don't want you to do all this carrying and feeding and swabbing and cleaning any longer. Actually, I can't take it any longer. It's awful. I don't want to remain as a memory of a wearying nursing case. I can't…it's…too much." I answer him, knowing he'd get what I have to say, other than Kirsten, who would think I would try to leave them behind again. It's an attempt though, but not one under the worse meaning. It's just a small step back, to create some form of distance. Well, if I think about it, it isn't even meant as a step back, rather as a way to create a memory which isn't laced with agony, hard work and sweat. I don't want them to remind solely how they took care of me. That doesn't seem to be right to me. And added to that: this distance might protect them a little. It'll give them space to get back to their own lives and make them getting used to me not being around.

"And why don't you tell my daughter about it? I guess she really liked to know about these feelings of your's."

"Sorry to say that, but I'm quite sure that she would get the wrong end of the stick and it'll all end in drama and I have no nerves for that." I have a point here, one he can't deny, because each time I express any kind of concern about this situation Kirsten managed to reflect it onto herself, thinking I wanted to hurt her or something. Despite the fact that this is a very self-centred reaction in my point of view – something that can explain Seth' self-centredness – I don't want to have to explain to her that she didn't understand the point of it.

"I would lie if I said that I don't understand your point behind this. Nevertheless, I have the feeling that you try to run away from something again." He has well founded doubts. The past months I haven't proved to be the most honest person.

"This isn't just another attempt of yours to shift away from us again, is it?" He asks again and with that putting a finger on a small sore spot. Busted. I can't answer 'no', because it would be at least a semi lie. I can't say 'yes', because I don't want to get another conversation rolling. I can't deal with all of this anymore and nobody seems to accept it. I can't watch them growing tired and exhausted over this. It wouldn't be right taking all their efforts for granted without acknowledging that they're putting themselves under strain each day only for me having it comfortable.

"Well, I leave it with that and I'll try to talk to Kirsten about this as smoothly as I can, but I can't promise that she'll stop hovering and worrying, once you got your will. The opposite, I'm sure that she'll be worse than ever. So, be prepared."


	32. Fears

_**30. Fears**_ – _eat us up alive_

_**K.**_

When my father came to me, and told me what Ryan had told him, my heart sank into my feet. Now watching him, I think it was the right decision. As soon as he checked into the hospital, his health went downhill rapidly. The IV in his pale thin neck is the striking result of his weakness. He can't eat, he can't drink. He can't sleep and also can't stay awake for too long either. He's dozing from hour to hour, day to day. All those bags with liquids dangling above his head are doing all the different jobs for him now, supported by all those ugly needles. I inevitably get reminded of the last weeks from my Mom. I can't hide from the fact that Ryan is too close to lose this fight, though he's so near to win it. He stirs. Immediately I put my hand onto his, letting him know someone is waiting for him to wake up, even if it was only for a minute. This reaction is already a reflex. I couldn't bear the thought he felt left alone, although I'm aware of him trying to keep a small, but formal distance. I guess sometime that he wants to protect us from what is happening to him. On other days I think that he didn't find his way back into our family. Well, it's stupid to think he ever will. But he's a friend, a good one. Indeed we couldn't wish for a better one. He's struggling to come back to lucidity. He's so often caught in some kind of delirium lately that it's a relief to see him awake and fully conscious.

"Hey, you here?" He asks me when his eyes dart into my direction. His voice is weak and silent. Talking wears him out now, hence he remains listening.

"Yes, you've been sleeping quite a while. Didn't you notice Sandy sitting with you last night?" I ask him. He answers with shaking his head. His movements are too small to recognize what they are, but I can read it anyway.

"Sorry." He whispers.

"Don't be." I answer him. Sandy and I are taking turns in sitting with him. My Dad and my son join the plan as often as it's possible for them doing so. We've agreed that it was easier for all of us, and the most for Ryan, if he'd stayed in a hospital, but we couldn't bring ourselves to leaving him here. It's no horrible place. The nurse that's taking care of him is an elderly and experienced woman, who treats Ryan with love, but in the same time as an adult. She makes his life – or what remained of it – so much more comfortable. Also he doesn't have to share his room, and I'm pretty sure this is my father's doing. His room is bright and I brought some familiar items: pillows and blankets, to make it more homely for him. It sounds a little bit crazy, but I want him to feel as less alienated and uncomfortable as possible.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Didn't sleep at all."

"Soon, you'll be able to sleep restfully again. You only have to hold on a little longer." His doctor informed him that the rate of cancer cells has begun to shrink and not only insignificantly.

"'m just tired." He has trouble articulating his sentences properly. His just weak.

"I can imagine, but it's only a small step left. They'll start the transplant immediately after the doctor gives the go. It's not a lot left." I encourage him. It's painful to watch him giving up on the last bit of the track. I can't blame him. This track has been awfully long and tearing. That he'll lose hope and start to doubt was just a matter of time. I should be glad he held on for that long.

_**R.**_

"I can't do this." I have no clue why I say these words. I had doubts from the very beginning when Sandy told me that he was a match, but they all had been too enthusiastic and I didn't want to destroy their happiness with my doubts. This must sound ungrateful, maybe I even am.

"Ryan, you can. You got so far. You're too close to give up now." I hear Kirsten pleading.

_**K.**_

"I…I can't take Sandy's offer. It's…I…I just can't." The last three words remain a whisper, but I can understand them well. I'm shocked. I don't have any explanation for this sudden change of his mind. He seemed relieved when we told him that Sandy was a match. He seemed to be more comfortable with Sandy being the donor than a stranger he didn't know. How can my perception fail that badly? I can't believe him.

"Ryan, what's your real problem. As moody as you've been over the last few months, I can't believe that you suffer from mood swings to such an extent."

"What makes you doubt that?" He asks me.

"You and Sandy called truce, and though you're still wary around him, I'm quite sure you won't have proceeded that act if you didn't mean it. Ryan, you never did what you didn't mean to do. I have trouble to believe that that's changed." I explain him my doubts. I'm not sure whether I really doubt his change, or only hope he's mistaken about himself.

_**R.**_

"What if it's not working?" I ask bluntly. She shock and panic are glowing from her eyes. Her body remains calm, but she can't hide her feelings while she's looking at me. She's a business woman. The outer shell remains calm even in times of a hurricane, but her inner core can be thrown into an imbalance she can't control immediately. She needs time to grab hold of it again. That's what I can see when she's looking at me like this.

_**K.**_

"Kirsten, Sandy being a match is no guarantee for my body tolerating the donation. What if my body rejects it?" I'm roughly touched by his concerns. I've never even spend a nanosecond thinking the donation might not be his cure.

"Ryan, you shouldn't even been thinking about this possibility!" I scream at him, unable to understand his motivation of this concern. I jump up from my chair and pace through the room, trying to decompose the energising frustration which has settled in my body.

"Kirsten, why are you angry again?"

"I'm not angry. I just try to warp my head around your negativism. Why can't you be positive about anything? Only once? Only this one time? Why can't you undergo this, thinking you'll make it?"

"I really was thinking like that, when I was diagnosed. I thought I could beat it. That's the only reason why I attended my lectures and tried to be as much independent as possible. But by the time I had to realise that this won't be easy and…facing this situation right now: this here, in this bed, with all these tubes dangling from any direction from my body with a complete inability to do anything, I can't circumvent the powerfulness of the illness. It's there with its whole force, which compels me to wait, and I can't take this agony anymore: not knowing how long I have left, whether I'll wake up again after I closed my eyes. I only want it to be over with." I look at him and the stinging feeling of upcoming tears in my eyes forces me to blink several times. How hard have I

fought to keep this fear covered? I didn't express it, forbade my family to even think about it and now there he is, slamming my fear directly into my face that I can't find shelter from it.

"It will be over Ryan. You'll see, it'll be better." I'm writhing between the headlock of truth, trying to escape it in vain. I lived through this already once. I watched the end becoming true, the one he's talking about. I'm well aware that his concern isn't unjustified. I know all of those reasons. I'm looking at one right now. The illness had found its way onto the surface of his body. It gnawed at him from the inside until it was able to break out. I'm facing it. I can see and feel it. I can even smell it. However I'm blind. I don't want to see it, so I don't see it. I'm blinding myself with my naivety that nothing can happen to my family and those belonging to its close circle.

_**R.**_

"No, it won't. Not necessarily." Our eyes lock. Her face is sheer confusion and hurt. I didn't intend to hurt her by my words. I thought she knew about these concerns. She lived through this once. It was her mother. Family. A reason why she shuts her eyes from that and a reason why she reacts denying it.

"Kirsten, I can't take this waiting any longer."

_**K.**_

"Why? Ryan, you've been waiting for so long, why can't you take it any longer?" I scream and turn around, looking out of the window. This irony: outside the sun is shining bright, the flowers in the park are blossoming in the happiest colours and we're stuck in here in a dark hole of misery.

"I'm afraid. Kirsten, I'm afraid to die and I want this to be over, before the fear is taking over me and my head. I want this to end. I…I'm just afraid."

"Afraid of what?" I'm stunned, too much to get his message and what he's actually afraid of: that he isn't afraid of receiving the donation from Sandy.

_**R.**_

"OF DYING!" I pronounce it as clear and loud as I can. At least I can be clear. My voice is meanwhile too weak for being risen to an even normal volume.

_**K.**_

My head shoots back into his direction. I feel how the blood from my face runs down into my feet and I feel a cold shivers running through me. I take a deep breath and sit down on the bed next to him, still processing the last two words.

"I'm so fucking afraid of dying that I don't want to take the risk of having to wait any longer, and this donation would make it unnecessarily longer."

"But we don't know this for sure. It can make it being over as well." I embrace his upper arm with my hand and stroke it up and down. His arms are already thin enough that my hands can wrap around it.

_**R.**_

"But we don't know it for sure and I can't bear this fear any longer. I…" I trail off. Now I feel what it means to face one's own fears and it's a painful feeling. It's too harsh as if I could hold back any longer.

_**K.**_

When he trails off I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him closer to my chest with the other one, stroking his head, not even taking care of his boldness. I rock him: I'm there for you. I sooth him: you don't have to fight this alone. I peck his head: everything will be alright. I let him cry my shirt wet: let it out.

"If you're too weak to fight, then I'll do. I'll fight for you. We all will fight for you. When you're afraid then be, and when you're afraid I'm sure we'll take it away from you." I assure him, still rocking him, still stroking his head. I have to swallow down my own sobs. I can't bother him with my tears. It's his turn to be weak and helpless and it's mine – our – to be strong and help him. I wrap my arm a little tighter around him and press his head a little closer to my chest. I try to absorb him to supply him with optimal protection. I want him to be safe. I want to shut out the outside world. He needs a break from all this, I'll offer it to him.


	33. Battle

_**A/N:  
**_** Thanks or still reading this story andof course a big THANK YOU to my beta 6footer =)**

* * *

_**31. Battles **_– _There's always a last one_

_**S.**_

After Ryan's break down, which I didn't witness, everything went very fast. The past few months are nothing but a blur. Three days after Ryan confessed into my wife he had to be transferred to ICU, because his circulation collapsed. He had become so weak that with each passing day more machines were keeping him alive. The only straw which was left: he was breathing, but it was only a matter of time until he was too weak and started failing to breathe on his own. Seeing her still emotional son lifeless like that broke her. She didn't manage to go back to the hospital afterwards. It was too hard for her to see this again. She wasn't able to live through this nightmare again. From that point I spent day after day at his side. I couldn't leave him alone there, whether he was aware of my presence or not. Seth took my turn once in a while, so I could go home, get changed, take a shower, go to sleep and get some decent meal. It was obvious to me that he didn't feel confident under this situation, but he wanted to be there for his friend and hence he shoved aside his own fears. I think this had made him a much stronger man than I'll ever be. He grew to a self confident man. I wished him other circumstances to grow under, but there was no alternative, at least out of his point of view. Anyway, I'd lie if I said that it didn't bother me at all to face the possibility of never being able to talk to Ryan again, to never hug him or tell him that I'm proud to be his big brother. I all too often had to brace myself from throwing around with anything that I could grab or from screaming at doctors and nurses, who placated me in an attempt to hide the hurtful truth of what was happening in front of me. In fact, I never understood why, after the doctor declared all cancer cells for being gone, they still didn't proceed with the transplant of my bone marrow. I bottled up my frustration about that, thinking that the doctors knew well what they were doing. Honestly, I thought I knew better than them. These are the feelings of a despaired brother, who's not yet ready to lose his brother. I remember well that one night when I nearly assaulted his doctor…

_I was sitting by his side, his hand in mine. I couldn't concentrate on anything else but him. I was restless. I tried to read a magazine that night, but I never got what I was reading. After I had to read a page the third time, and still couldn't focus on the article printed on it, I gave up. Something was beaming from him, but I can't tell what it was. It took all my attention, though. It was no movement, no noise. Everything seemed as it seemed before. No change. The nurse entered the room, to check in his vitals, I guess._

"_Good evening Mr. Cohen." She greeted me. I was well known. Probably they thought of my as a maniac, sitting beside his unconscious brother, talking. No, this really wasn't a reasonable behaviour at all._

"_Hey." I greeted her back._

"_How are you today?" She used to chat with me, while she was working on Ryan. I thought it was kind of her. Better than ignoring me, as the doctors used to._

"_A little restless, to be honest." It's a strange thing, but nurses – if they are good – give you the feeling as if you could talk about everything to them._

"_Waiting for him to wake up? Don't worry. I can imagine that he's only taking a break to rest properly before he starts for the rest of this track. I'm sure he'll be fine soon." She was always positive about it. Maybe she has had a special feeling, I didn't have. Maybe it was only her experience, which made her more optimistic than I was._

"_I hope so. Unfortunately I can't be that optimistic as you are." I really regretted my rationalism. I begged for being hopeful and optimistic. _

"_It's not as difficult as you think it is. What makes you doubt that he's not preparing for coming back to you?" She asks me, meanwhile clipping the chart back onto the rail at the foot of the bed._

"_I don't know. Probably all the battles he already fought. I can't keep from thinking that he might be tired of it and that this is the one battle, the straw that breaks the camel's back – his back."_

"_Do you think, he'd been fighting that long, if this was the case?" She said with a warm-hearted __smile, an expression I met way too less those days. She patted my shoulder and then left me. I turned my attention back to him._

"_Please let her be right, even it that means I don't know you as good as I though I did." I told him._

_I sat there, I have no idea for how long, and nothing happened. I tried to get back to my magazine, but when I opened it on the page, I'd stopped reading, I didn't even remember what the article was about. Frustrated I threw it into the bin and found my way to get a coffee and some fresh air. I wanted to clear my thoughts. It must have been late at night. The streets were silent and it was dark. I felt the urge to phone my wife, but I resisted. She needed to rest. Her nerves were at the edge and I could see how hard she fought her own battle: the one against the bottle. I wanted to support her, but she made me understand that this was her battle and only she herself could fight it. My son and my father in law had a close eye on her and promised me to call as soon as any sign of a relapse occurred. When I went back to his room I found the doctor standing above my son, doing some tests or something._

"_Good evening." I greeted him, to make him aware that I was back._

"_Good evening Mr. Cohen."_

"_How's the verdict?" I asked him._

"_Well, I don't want to raise any false hopes, so…not too good. I rather doubt that Mr. Atwood will wake up again. And if he wakes up, I doubt the transplant will contribute much to his recovery. His last treatment was long ago, and we can't keep on with it as longs as he's unstable like that and added to that the costs of this here…so…" While the man was talking rage grew in my stomach. My stomach was tensed that it hurt and I was unable to keep the anger down. I couldn't let this man spill the death verdict of my brother. This arrogant man, who talked about my brother as if he was a factor in an economy test, was bargaining for what was coming towards him, he metaphorically begged for it. Ryan was a still living human being to me, a precious one._

"_Stop talking as if you can weigh out the life of a human being with money. The bills you're sending happily are all paid, so we have all right to wait and hope that he'll recover. Your medical degree doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that."_

"_Mr. Cohen, I'm sorry about my harsh words, but even you have to face the facts. I'm sorry that all your efforts aren't repaid in a more favourable way, but the cure in form of a donation comes too late for your son." I haven't told the doctors and nurses that Ryan was my brother. I only got the privilege of staying with him 24/7 through the father-son-relationship._

"_Too late? You're refusing to transplant since you gave paradoxically the go for it!"_

"_I'm not refusing, I can't. Medically it is irresponsible to transplant under these conditions!" Now even the doctor screamed._

"_How shall I know that you conduct your duties correctly?" He could have been telling me anything and I was doomed to believe him, because I have no knowledge on the field of medicine. I can't judge the situation. I could merely listen to my feeling._

"_Mr. Cohen, I can assure you that I didn't make this decision arbitrarily. There are serious medical reasons for my decisions and I'd appreciate it, if you accepted them, and recognised my medical knowledge."He tried to calm me down, but he failed. Some inner beast came to surface and I couldn't control it. I was angry and black rage enveloped me into its veil of inappropriate judgement._

"_I don't give a shit about your degree and your knowledge! I want…"_

"_Sandy, no reason for going postal." It was this tiny whisper which caught my attention and calmed me down immediately after I realised it wasn't the man in white talking to me._

"_I'm certain that the man is only doing his job." This sentence brought my full attention to the bed where the voice came from. I looked back at the doctor whose face was a mixture of confusion and disbelieve. I had no time to think about the man and went straight over to Ryan, who watched me out of exhausted eyes, but wide awake. Although I heard him and saw his eyes open, I had trouble to process that he was back under the living. I carefully touched his cheek. He was so fragile that I feared his face might crumble under my touch. He blinked at me a little strangely. I struggled to suppress the tears of relief that welled up in my eyes. I didn't find the right words to express what I __felt when he opened his eyes again, giving the first life sign after weeks of silence._

"_This is impossible, but it happened." The doctor said. "You know this young man better than anyone ever will." He added, while patting my shoulders. In that night I've learnt that doctors and nurses take different view points from things and that nurses were blessed with some kind of unfathomable perspicacity._

"_Never scare the hell out of us like this again."I told him, laughing and crying at once: laughing, because only Ryan inherited this gift to simply turn away from death; crying, because the new won hope offered me relief I haven't felt before._

I'm grateful that Ryan found his way back to us that day. It helped not only rescuing him. It helped all of us. Kirsten found her equilibrium and went back to visit Ryan every day. Seth's face lightened up at the news and he was back at his babbling sarcasm and irony in no time. I marked the date red on which the doctor asked me for coming to the hospital. Finally the day has come. This date is my personal holyday. It was the day on which I got my brother back. Inwardly I'm still confused about my feelings. I don't feel the same way about my other siblings as I feel about Ryan. Probably I still feel more like a father for him. And what does Ryan feel? I don't know, but I think he does well with the brother relationship. He's more relaxed around me and we manage to talk and joke around again. That's a good sign and it tells me that his decision to leave for a while, after his recovery, was the right one. It seems as if it helped him to sort things out, with us and himself.


	34. Decisions

**_A/N.: Sorry for the late update, but I've been awfully busy the last few weeks. For those of you who are waiting for an update on my new story: I'm working on it and I won't let the story unfinished. A big thanks for reading my stories and to 6footer who betaed this story for me =)_**

**31. Decisions **– _your family won't always like your decision. Making it though might proof them wrong_

I join my husband in the kitchen, watching our kids in the den. He looks satisfied with himself and the world. I wrap an arm around him. After Ryan left, we didn't think we might see him again, let alone that he'd come back to us. Now he's sitting in our den as if everything that lies behind us has never happened. I have a bad conscience about not having been there for him, when he was the weakest. I explained it to him though. I told him that I couldn't handle it and that I had to fight hard for my sobriety. I expected him reacting disappointed, but he reacted respectful, nearly as if he was proud of me. My health was more important to him than my company he said, blushing after he realised what exactly he had said. He corrected himself immediately saying that he meant that he appreciated my company and that it was important to him, just not on all expenses. I knew already from the first sentence what he meant. I couldn't believe that he was putting himself first. He never did and he never will. There's a lot of work to be done to change that. I don't want this attitude to be the reason for him killing himself over the company. He has a life himself and he's supposed to live it, especially after nearly losing it. Watching him content like that under our roof makes me feel whole again. My heart fell apart when he announced his leave to us. He can still remember the day, when he came down stairs and wanted to talk to us…

_After the doctors gave the go, Ryan came back to us. He had a long way of recovery lying ahead from him. He was healthy, but weak. He had to learn how to eat again and he had to learn how to move around. The long period of bed rest let his muscles degrade an awfully lot, not talking about his immune system which was weaker than ever. He coped with it the Ryan way and he was up and back on his own feet sooner than everyone told us he would be. We were proud of him, but we never thought abut the time after his recovery. Somehow things felt strangely normal again. The family was whole with Ryan among us. Then he came downstairs one morning. He had spent an awful lot of time on the computer lately, but I didn't ask him what he was doing. I respect his privacy. He's an adult man and doesn't need to be watched any second. It's a hard process coming to terms with this realisation, but we wanted to keep him and not scare him away, hence we had to treat him and acknowledge him as the adult man that he was and is. I stepped out to us on the patio. Seth had been out with Summer that day. Ryan probably picked the day deliberately. Seth would have made the whole conversation a lot more difficult as it already was for all of us._

"_Hey honey, time to join us?" I asked him. He blushed and I could see something was up his mind. He sat down by us._

"_I have to talk to you, about something." My husband frowned, the unmistakable sign that he was sceptical about what was coming up to us._ _I braced myself for the next horror message._

"_Then talk. We're all yours." My husband said, putting aside the newspaper and watching Ryan closely. Ryan became even redder if that was even possible._

"_Well, it…I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful or…but…I mean, I really am grateful for all you did. You've been great and you did a great deal on…just everything…but I want to finish my degree."He said. I didn't get at first what the problem was about this. Of course he wanted to finish his degree. He had been working too hard to let it slide._

"_Of course. That's wonderful news. That means you're fully recovered, so why do you come to us as if you have some horrible news?" I asked him._

"'_cause, I want to go back to Boston. I can pick up my scholarship again and…if I'm doing well, they'll offer me a Masters degree. Right now…they sound kinda certain about it." The last few words where nearly inaudible. My chest was close to burst with pride. I always knew Ryan was smart, but that he got a scholarship for two degrees was amazing._

"_But that's even better news and Boston his not too far away." My husband seemed as confused as I was._

"_Yeah, but…if I can pick up seamlessly from where I broke up, which means I have one and a half year left until my Masters." He tried to explain it to us as painless as possible, but beating around the bush is like pulling of a band aid slowly._

"_And this Masters degree isn't in Boston?" I asked to force him to his point._

"_Oxford. Great Britain." My eyes shot open. This was further away than Boston and then, one and a half year and he would leave?_

"_What? Are your sure, that you're ready for that? I mean you recovered only shortly and…are you sure you feel strong enough for such a challenge?" I asked him. I could live with Boston. Boston was already hard, but he had started there and he wanted to finish there. I could understand. I could cope. But Great Britain? This wasn't even on the continent anymore. It was hard enough to digest the news that he wanted to leave us that soon – that he even considered leaving us again._

"_I think I'm ready for this." He whispered. Discomfort was the colour of his face._

"_This is a huge challenge."_

"_And it's a huge opportunity. Listen, Oxford isn't far away from London and they have some really really top-class architecture firms there." He explained himself. As sad as I was about this news, I understood him. He wanted to go out into the world. He'd never left the continent and he had a huge chance at hand. When I've been his age, I would have given my right hand for such an opportunity. This was more prestige than he could ever gain here. Still, I was afraid that it was too early for him, that he was overdoing it and destryoing his dream with his impatience. On the other hand I've never met such a reasonable man in that age again. I could be certain that he had thought well about this decision and that he was old enough to say 'no' when he felt he wasn't ready yet._

"_So, when do you plan to leave?" My husband asked. His face was forced to a painful grimace of played happiness. He was hit by the news as I was. The difference was that I could related better to Ryan's situation, because I've been a young architecture student myself, taking every chance which was open to me._

"_To Boston, at the end of the week. Semester starts early." He answered._

"_This is a little short term, don't you think? You need to find an accommodation before and…"_

"_I can stay on campus. I got some benefits due…to my medical history." Then it dawned to me why he had spent that much time at the computer. He'd been planning this behind our back. He couldn't even ask us for an opinion? I was angry about this distrust he demonstrated us again._

"_And you thought planning behind our back was better than putting the cards on the table?" I wanted to know why he had retreated from us again, without us even noticing it._

"_Yeah, I thought that, because I wasn't sure whether I could decide unbiased after you were able to tell me what you thought about this. I wanted to make a free decision."_

"_And we inhibit this?" My husband sounds as angry as I feel._

"_Don't get me wrong, but I…guess you would have made me stay here and this isn't good. Not that I don't want to, but I think leaving and being on my own for a while can be quite helpful for me. I think being at a distance for a period of time can help me to sort out and come over everything that has happened."_

"_And you can't do this here?" I asked him wary about his concerns._

"_I don't think so. I need to get an objective view on things. Here you're around and there are too many things and emotions that influence me. It's like all this is numbing my mind and I can't grasp a clear thought. I…have to do this. This is all I can say." He had been bloody honest to us._

"_Okay. This is…hard to digest, but…I can understand you, I want to ask you just one wish." I told him._

"_Shoot."_

"_Don't leave us behind. Stay in contact with us."_

"_I never thought about breaking it. I…just wanted to get a distance between us. That's all. I'm not running away this time. I'm just leaving – officially."_

_With this sentence everything was said. We never managed to visit him in Boston and he never managed to visit us. I think I had it in my blood that I wouldn't see him that soon again. This made the goodbye a little teary on my part. I hugged him goodbye, as if I'll never get the chance to do so again. I nearly pressed all air out of his lungs. He had promised me to stay with us in mind. I can still imagine his last glance when he turned around the last time and waved at us and then going in the crowd streaming towards the plane. _

_He wrote us e-mails. He hardly called, but regarding the time when he wrote the mails, he was too busy at day. He even wrote a card from Oxford and London. I still have it pinned on the door of the fridge. No, he didn't run away and he didn't leave us. In fact the time away from us had done him a lot good. He's more content. He knows how to act around us and is at ease with us and his surrounding. He grew a lot more during the time he spent abroad._

"Eww! Ryan! Use a tissue and keep your germs for yourself!" Seth exclaims, after a sneeze from Ryan. I'm so glad that it's only an infection, nothing worse which the doctor had found in his blood.

"What are you doing here anyway?" My husband asks our son and joins the two in the den. I follow him.

"Hmm, let me guess: Summer's baby shopping with Marissa and I have to charge my creative battery so I can go on with my shiny career as author of the best known graphic novel at the east coast called 'atomic county'."

"Meaning: you're watching us, so you can draw our lives down on paper and sell it as your own story which you made up in your mind. Very creative." Ryan replies with a grin.

"Nah, right now here's nothing adaptable happening. Sick Kid Chino isn't selling well."

"Sorry for having to disappoint you here. It'll happen more often for the next time. I really wish my brother had a better immune system. With whatever you gave me, it's a miracle that you aren't sick twenty-four seven." Ryan jokingly complains into my husband's direction, well aware that his own immune system still needs to be rebuilt.

"Hey, do you talk like that to a big brother?" Sandy replied mockingly.

"Well, to one who sings along with show tunes, I think yes." I answer for Ryan.

"Mom, you're having a point there." Seth adds.

"Dear family, I'm wounded." My husband answers, grabbing his chest with his hands and playing death. We all burst into full hearted laughter.

Yes, we're a family. No matter how confusing and insane our family relations might be, but we are a family. A family again.


End file.
